The Writing On The Wall
by stalrua
Summary: Eating the apple Loki gave her seemed like a harmless act; at least, until Jane realized the consequences. Can a mortal come to terms with immortality as she lives through the ages? And is an eternity long enough for a god to escape what has been foretold within the pages of an ancient book? There's a fine line between mischievousness and fate.
1. Prologue

A/N: This idea came to me after writing "And She Dreams Through The Noise" and wouldn't let go. It will eventually span from pre-Thor to post-Avengers, but will be AU. To be completely honest, I don't think I'm capable of writing anything else.

The bones of this story have been fleshed out, but the updates might be slower than I'd like for a while until work settles down because working two jobs for the next few months equals little to no life. I decided to go ahead and post this prologue, though, to give me an incentive to continue and hopefully get some feedback.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with Marvel Comics or any of its creations. I can only appreciate the characters they've given us to work with.

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**Prologue**

"_Hell is empty and all the devils are here."_

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2013: New York, United States

"Stop!"

Jane pushed harder, lungs burning with breaths that had turned from heavy to gasping and muscles aching with their continued sprint up the flight of stairs. Rounding a corner, she took a moment to peek over the railing into the depths of the spiraling staircase to see the agents trailing her a few levels below. One of them leaned out, and Jane saw her face reflected in the mirrored lenses before she took off once more.

"Come back!"

Like that was going to happen. Did the men think that she'd decided to fight them off and climb twelve stories just for fun? No, turning back wasn't an option. She had to reach the rooftop… she had to find him. If she were to surrender now, they would only proceed to haul her off to Norway.

"Jane, we have to get you out of here!"

Case in point.

Turning the last corner, she scrambled through the last few steps to the rooftop access, threw open the heavy door, and emerged into blinding sunlight, fresh air, and the sound of war. The door slammed shut behind her with a thud that would've been loud were it not for the deadly symphony that occupied the air. Alien and military aircrafts flew overhead, filling the sky with bullets and – were those energy blasts? – that occasionally hit their mark but, more often than not, rained down on buildings and the unsuspecting populace below.

And even though the agents were growing closer, Jane froze for a moment. She stared with wide eyes and slack jaw at the destruction, the devastation, the desolation that had fallen over the city.

Suddenly, a muffled shout sounded from behind the door, breaking through her immobility, and spurred into action once more, she scanned the rooftop. Smooth concrete, air conditioning units, a small utility structure… nothing that she needed. But then her focus landed on a jagged strip of metal to the left. Her legs were shaky, unused to the flat surface after the climb they'd just made, but she forced cooperation from them as she stumbled forward.

With no time to spare, she began to drag the weighty panel – judging by the half-scorched imprint of a flag at the far end, it was the last remnant of a fighter jet that had recently been shot down – back to the rooftop access. The yelling was growing louder, too close for her to do any more than wince and readjust her grip when the keen edge of the metal sliced open her palm.

It wasn't until the panel was wedged beneath the door handle and braced against the ground that she finally allowed herself a deep breath. Her heart continued to race, but the rest of her muscles turned to mush, begged for a reprieve. Wearily, she collapsed against the door and let her head fall back before sliding to the ground.

The pounding of the agents' fists vibrated through her back.

"Open the door, Jane!"

She numbly watched the battle taking place in the sky.

"You need to come with us!"

Her hand stung, felt sticky with blood.

"It's not safe!"

But, really, what _was_ safe anymore?

Safe was a straw cot and a heavy wool blanket, listening to the fierce howling of the winter wind outside, seeing the comforting crosshatch overhead, feeling the warmth of a fire in the hearth. Safe was throwing snowballs and laughter, noses red from the cold, mouths stretched wide in grins, white snow dusting hair and collecting on eyelashes. Safe was music and tobacco in the air, painted lips, eyes dark with kohl, short dresses and long nights, melodies creating dances that spilled onto streets and into alleyways.

Safe was firm muscles and the hard press of fingers, the scent of cedar and frost, breathless moans and quiet whispers, mischievous smirks, the taste of magic, fingers brushing across cheekbones and through hair, the color green in an endless world of grey.

Jane sighed.

Those forms of safety were long gone. Now, the many things that could be considered safe had been cast aside, the harsh reality of the world replacing them with things that were decidedly not safe.

Safe was not the iron scent of blood on the air, blank and glassy eyes atop a grimace, bile and excrement and sickness, forceful hands leading to frightened screams, prison bars, mushroom clouds, radiation, buildings collapsing into dust, anger and hate and death.

Safe was not a darkened room in a land of ice and night, shadows moving with an ancient evil.

Safe was not furious shouting, ripped pages held in clenched fists.

Safe was not a hole in the atmosphere that allowed an alien force to bear down upon New York at the behest of a god.

The whirring of an alien aircraft passed a little too close for comfort, effectively scattering Jane's thoughts and sending her scrambling around the side of the structure that held the top of the staircase to hide in the shadows. She watched as the machine continued onward, closely followed by a silver and red blur.

Wait…

"Thor!" Leaping up, she sprinted to the edge of the building. "Thor!" She screamed his name, voice cracking. "Thor!" But it was swallowed by the cacophony of battle and she was forced to watch as he disappeared around another building.

She was alone, stranded on top of a high-rise building with no way of finding the one person that could definitively end this. Out in the open, the wind whipped around Jane, pulling her hair so fiercely that the locks left stinging lashes across her face and neck. However, it didn't obstruct her sight enough to block the monstrous Leviathans that entered the realm through the hole above Stark Tower.

Jane was still clinging to the concrete ledge when everything exploded.

The blast of energy from the passing alien caused the concrete to shatter beneath her, and she could no longer discern between the sky and the ground as the force of the explosion flung her through the air.

Time slowed.

It would be just her luck that she'd fly over the edge of the building. Would the fall be as terrifying as she imagined? Was instantaneous death painless? Who would be the one to identify her splattered remains? What if they couldn't identify her? She would be just another nameless victim, lumped with other unidentifiable casualties of the battle, and the people closest to her would never know the circumstances of her death, would be forced to mourn a body-less casket and an empty grave. Although that was assuming they defeated the aliens to start with…

Time sped up again.

The air deposited her to land heavily against an air conditioning unit. Broken pieces of concrete jabbed into her back and her leg was bent beneath her at an unnatural angle, but there was little she could do except lay there while dust and debris settled around her and try to remember how to breathe. It took a considerable amount of effort before the sweet rush of oxygen filled her lungs… only to end in a harsh gasp.

Her lungs were on fire… or was that her chest itself?

Her muscles?

Her bones?

Her heart?

Pain was a knife swimming through her veins. It was all she could focus on, the intensity of it sending black spots to dance across her sight. She needed to breathe, but right then she needed to move more. Because it was the chunks of concrete beneath her that were causing so much pain… right? Surely, she'd be able to breathe easier without the jagged edges of stone pressing into her back.

Jane wiggled her fingers first as a test, and when that resulted in success, drew her hands up to settle on the concrete on either side of her. There was a moment in which she gathered her thoughts, a brief second where she thought about how freely she'd be able to inhale afterwards… but when she tried to push herself up, her chest exploded in white-hot blades of agony. And it was ironic how dull the fire in her lungs felt right then compared to the inferno in her chest.

The black spots in her vision swelled and overtook her, and when they finally drew back she had no way of knowing if she'd passed out for ten seconds or ten minutes. The world was a haze. The sky blurred, a dull ringing filled her ears, and she couldn't really feel the concrete beneath her fingertips anymore. Blinking slowly, she desperately tried to restore some semblance of calm even as her heart raced in panic.

Gradually, the sky sharpened and her senses returned. But when she took in a slow, hesitant breath, she caught the wet gurgle that accompanied it.

A punctured lung.

As if everything wasn't complicated enough, she'd managed to puncture her lung.

The culprit was most likely a broken rib – that would explain the ungodly pain in her chest – and if her crackling inhales were any indication, there was fluid in the lung as well. It was possible that the remnants of saliva had leaked down her throat. But it was just as possible that she was bleeding internally. Her mind readily settled on something to analyze, clinically noting that if air was leaking out of her injured lung, the other would eventually collapse from a lack of room to expand. Not that it mattered much anyway because a person her size could only live for thirty minutes at the most when suffering from a punctured lung with liquid in it, and with the current state of the city, there would be no one coming to her rescue any time soon. By the time someone arrived, she would be long dead, having either drowned in her own fluids or asphyxiated from a lack of oxygen.

Still preferable to death as a red smear on the ground after more than a thousand foot fall.

The detached analysis calmed her, and in the aftermath, she felt strangely resigned. There was no honor in facing death with fear. And although the end she faced wasn't one to be necessarily proud of, at least it wasn't a disgraceful one. After all, death could come on far worse wings.

With the heat of the sun warm on her face, she briefly glanced at its brilliance before focusing on the firmament.

The sky was so beautiful, vast and endless and boundlessly stretching out as far as the eye could see in sweeping strokes of wispy white on unadulterated blue. Her eyes traced the patterns of the clouds, followed their graceful dance through the heavens. And if she ignored the battle and the sharp, definitive lines that were the modern world, she could almost imagine that she was… home.

She could almost smell the briny sea and the sharp bite of coming winter.

She could almost feel the earth and the soft edges of grass beneath her.

She could almost hear the gentle ebb and flow of the tides over the cliff's edge.

But when she blinked, home dissolved into steel and rock. And with nothing left except the sound of war in her ears, smoke in her nose, and ashes on her tongue, the wrongness of it all fueled the last shreds of determination. Because she refused to die in a crumpled heap atop a pile of stone.

Gritting her teeth against the shooting pain, Jane crawled to her feet. There was a second where she swayed, clutching tightly to the coiled top of the air conditioning unit as the darkness crept in from the edges of her sight, but then it receded and she was able to stand upright… or as upright as someone with broken ribs and a punctured lung could.

Without warning, the sky grew dark, was split apart by streaks of lightning and crashing thunder. She could feel the energy in the air; the static danced along her skin, made the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end.

And when the electricity dissolved, the lightning faded, and the skies cleared, she was surprisingly unsurprised to see him standing where he hadn't been before.

Alabaster skin, dark hair, grey eyes, adorned in familiar shades of green and gold and black that he'd worn since the beginning… it was like looking at a memory, peeling the image directly from the past and pasting it in the here and now, and as her gaze roamed his form, it wasn't the first time she thought how easy it would be to drown in the sea of details that comprised him.

"Loki."

"Jane…" Something that resembled concern flitted across his face before it shifted into that cool indifference he'd always worn so well. "What are you doing here?"

She could have answered his question, allowed him to take the lead as he so often had in the past. Or she could have given voice to any one of the thousand things she'd thought or felt since the last time they'd seen each other. But still able to hear the impacts of battle, the screams of fear, and – hidden even deeper in the background – the silence of death, all she could do was redirect his inquiry.

"What are you _doing_?"

"Ignorance has never suited you, Jane." So they were going to play that game. Surreal as it felt, she could go with it, pretend that the last time they saw each other hadn't been over a year ago as he fell into a darkened Void. "Surely you can surmise my goal."

The staff in his hand caught her attention, then the smoking remains of a building that had just crumbled under the weight of a fallen Leviathan. "Total destruction?"

"A world made free." He corrected her with an unamused smile. "I would rule Midgard as a benevolent god."

Jane shook her head. "I saw what you did in Germany." Turning, he began to walk a meandering path to her left, his casual pace sorely out of context with the situation. She followed his every movement, but he was looking out, up, behind her, down… basically, anywhere that kept him from meeting her eyes. "There was nothing benevolent about you carving out someone's eye or trying to kill a defenseless man. A leader wouldn't rule through force; true leaders don't use fear to control others."

"Don't they?" He looked to her, then, and there was a steely glint to his gaze that made her shiver involuntarily. "The one thing mortals cherish above all is the idea of freedom, but what they fail to realize is that freedom is crippling. With too much sovereignty, life results in nothing more than a frantic struggle."

"I already heard this speech, too."

"And yet you still fail to see the truth of it. How could I _not_ rule through terror and with an iron fist in the beginning?" Jane's brows pulled together in a silent question. "It's natural for my coming to be met with resistance when independence is so highly prized. So when the mortals refuse to yield, what other choice do I have but to meet force with force?"

"This isn't some 'you brought it upon yourself' kind of thing." Her feet moved a couple steps closer to him before she forced them to stop; even still, she leaned towards him, biting back a hiss of pain and pressing a hand to her broken ribs when pain flashed through her at the movement. "You can try to rationalize it all you want, but the bottom line is that you're killing people, Loki… innocent people. They should be allowed to live their lives how they want whether it's a frantic struggle or not. You have no right to take that away from them."

Mirroring her movement, he took one step towards her, then another. "I beg to differ."

A part of her wanted to look down, wanted to observe the way the amount of concrete between them lessened instead of holding his gaze, but retreat of any kind was not an option. Not in this game he was playing. Because it was a game; a dangerous game of intimidation. And while Loki had always excelled at intimidation, its effects on her had somewhat lessened over time while her stubborn willfulness had only grown.

So instead of backing away from him or lowering her eyes, she arched a single eyebrow and lifted her chin. "Oh?"

"Yes." Another step closer. "I have every right." Only a few feet separated them now, and she was forced to crane her head to maintain eye contact. "This is my birthright, Jane." How could she have ever forgotten how very tall he was? "I was born to be a king."

"And I was born to die in the middle of a battlefield, but sometimes things don't work out like we expect." It could have just been the way the light reflected, but Jane could have sworn she saw a shadow of the past in his eyes. But as quickly as she noticed it, it was gone. "The time you spent in the Void obviously didn't change you at all… you're just as conceited and arrogant as you always have been, always thinking you're so superior."

"And the ages have done little to dull your tongue; I see it's as sharp as ever."

His blank expression made her want to pull out her hair in frustration. "This…" She glanced out to the wreckage, up to the aerial battles still taking place, before back to him. "All of this is bullshit. I know you well enough to know something else is going on. And for the God of Lies, you've never been very good at lying to me. So tell me, Loki – why are you here?"

A cruel smirk pulled at his mouth. "To rule this…"

"Why are you _really_ here?"

His smirk fell somewhat at her interruption. Or maybe it was the way her jaw clenched in determination. Or the way her eyes flashed with righteous anger. He stared hard at her with an intensity that burned through her like fire, and for one long second, Jane had the faintest thought that he was getting ready to either kiss her or kill her… but then he was stalking away, he was gripping the remains of the concrete ledge that lined the rooftop, he was spinning back around to face her. She watched the ends of his surcoat slice through the air before curling around his legs, took in his deceptively calm façade.

"Is this not my legacy, Jane?" He extended his hands wide, gesturing to the madness that surrounded them, madness he'd created. "Is this not what I have been foretold to do?"

It was almost funny the way a few simple words threw the entire situation into startling clarity.

"That's why you're doing this?" Loki didn't answer, though, only offered the tight line of his mouth and a telling silence. It was that stubborn silence that had her raising her voice. "You, of all people, should know that the future is never set in stone."

"I, of all people…" In contrast to hers, his voice was low, dangerous, a predator stalking its hapless prey. "You think that the realms are subject to chance? After everything you've seen, you hold on to hope that there is more that governs your life? There is no faith to be had, no free will to be executed outside of what has been written."

Without warning, he stepped forward, crossing the space between them with such purpose that it took every ounce of resolve Jane had not to backtrack. When virtually no space remained between them, he stopped. His hand darted out. It caught her chin in a vice-like grip, forced her to look at him, but when he spoke, she was surprised to hear that his tone had lost its iron edge from before.

"You think it was by chance that we met?"

Jane wasn't quite sure how to answer that.

Not anymore.

Without his fire to stoke it, her anger burned away, and she was left gazing up at him earnestly. "I think the future is vague. It's indistinct. You may think that your life was ordained, but you're wrong." The hand that wasn't pressed to her ribs reached up to lightly touch his forearm. "The future doesn't bind you any more than time bound me."

"That is where you are wrong." He sighed deeply. "I am nothing more than a rat in a maze. I am confined to the walls that surround me and the road ahead. There are other routes I can take, but the alternatives only lead to dead ends and failure. In the end, I am forced to walk the only true path that remains."

His fingers softened but didn't fall away; however, his focus did. It lowered until Jane was staring at dark lashes and pale eyelids, and the eerie glow at the end of his scepter only seemed to enhance the blue veins that crisscrossed the skin.

"The Norns have spoken; this is my fate."

"It was only a book." Her fingers tightened in the fabric of his sleeve. "It was just a bunch of stories."

"Stories that were strangely accurate. No…"

The loss of his presence when he stepped back left Jane swaying forward. He took a deep, steadying breath. In that split second between his inhale and exhale, she could literally see the workings of him as he composed himself, pulled the frayed pieces of his being back together and stitched them into place with a kind of resigned persistence. When his eyes met hers, the look in them made her shiver for the second time.

"Don't you see, Jane? I am the tool forged in the fires of fate. I am the destructor, the slayer of worlds, the blade that rends the cosmos."

She couldn't breathe; the air snagged in her lungs.

"I am death."

And somewhere in the depths of a molten world, Jane could almost feel the devil smile.


	2. 1021: Norway

A/N: Just a warning – this story is rated M for a reason. There will be violence and sensitive subject matter; not all chapters will be that way, though, and eventually there will be some of the more enjoyable parts that people look for in an M-rating. Also, I know that in the movie-verse, Loki and Thor were roughly one thousand years old, but I like the idea of them being much older than that.

A huge thank you to **Hr'awkryn** for jumping on board as beta! You have my eternal gratitude!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with Marvel Comics or any of its creations. I can only appreciate the characters they've given us to work with.

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**Chapter One**

"_Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you."_

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1021: Norway

The last whisper of a breath was expelled from dry, cracked lips only to be blown away by the wind. There was no strength left in the hand she held, only its dead weight. Similarly, there was no life left in the swirling brown and green of his eyes. They used to sparkle with mirth when he would chase her around the house or tell her stories before bed. Now, they were dull and flat.

She retrieved the sword from where it lay nearby and carefully rearranged his hands, placing them on his chest and curling the already stiffening fingers around the blade he'd carried since before she could remember. With a slight touch, she closed his eyelids. And it was with a silent prayer of a quick journey to Valhalla that she said goodbye to her father.

Slowly, she rose and looked to the shoreline in the distance.

He wouldn't want her to mourn; after all, he was finally to be reunited with her mother, his wife. However, knowing he wouldn't want her to mourn and being able to fulfill his wishes were two entirely different things. Grief was an anchor, heavy chains dragging down her heart and mooring her in sadness.

"What do I do now, Father?" She rapidly blinked away the unshed tears. "How will I go on?"

But she received no answer. When the wind died down, there was no sound except the pervasive burden of silence; that, and her despairing sigh. Gradually, she stepped away to retrieve her own sword. It still lay where she'd dropped it right before she'd run to her father's side as he collapsed, but when she picked it up, it no longer carried the same sense of comfort it had before. Instead, the worn, molded leather felt unwelcome in her hand: unwanted, a constant reminder.

Signe.

That was the name she had been given.

It meant _latest victory_, but the truth was that it felt like a lie.

Standing in the bleak village, she turned in a sluggish circle. As she took in the desolation around her, she felt reaffirmed in her belief that nothing about the current situation felt victorious by any means. If it was a victory, it was a hollow one.

There was blood on her sword, her leather armor was battered and rent in several places, and her helmet had long since disappeared, but it was difficult to do anything except remember what it took to live because her body no longer seemed to function automatically. Her heart thumped slowly, her breath came even slower. Muscles no longer functioned as they should, choosing to remain stiff and barely responsive, but her head made up for their lack of action with the way it pounded like a second heartbeat in her skull. Still, she knew it was nothing compared to the man whose brains had splattered across her boots after the keen edge of her blade had carved open his head.

Then again, there was a certain peace in death that made her somewhat envious of his fate.

Ever since she was young, her parents had always told her there was honor to be found in a good death. Back then, though, all she could think was that death was surely painful. She'd seen the gruesome wounds others in the village bore when they returned from their journeys and the agony people faced when they succumbed to sickness and disease… she'd been a witness to the torturously slow death her mother had endured at the hands of the white plague.

But now… now, all she could think was that if death was painful, what did that make life?

What a relief it would be if her heart would only stop its hurting. And if that relief came through death, so be it. A heart could only hurt if it was alive, yes? Perhaps she'd been wrong in her naïve youth; maybe there was no anguish in death, only tranquility. If that were the case, let death come for her, let it take her on swift wings to the golden halls of her people, let it soothe the ache.

She was ready.

She wasn't afraid.

Only a few days ago, she'd been sitting at an oaken table with her family and friends as they celebrated the end of winter with a feast fit for a king. They had laughed and sang and mercilessly teased her childhood friend Hallsteinn when he nearly fell into the fire in his drunkenness as he attempted to woo the fair maiden Dagny with a dance.

Now, she stood in the charred remains of the village in which she'd been raised and watched as a fire that was so much larger and so much brighter than the one that night consumed everything – the oaken table, the homes, the bodies, the memories.

It seemed so surreal, like a dream within a dream… but it wasn't a dream. She could run and scream and pinch herself all she wanted, but she'd only end up with tired limbs, a hoarse voice, and bruises because it wasn't a dream, it was real.

She _had_ laughed, she _had_ sang, she _had_ teased.

But she'd also watched the ship appear on the horizon flying a flag with colors she didn't recognize.

The majority of the village's warriors had left to go raiding for supplies after the harsh winter, and she'd been scouring the horizon for the familiar ships of her people when she was met with the newcomers instead. The people had come from a distant land to preach a bizarre idea, something about the one, true God – they called it Christianity. It wasn't the first time her people had heard of the idea; they'd come across it increasingly in their travels as it spread throughout the rest of the land. However, while her people were tolerant of the radical concepts others had adopted, they were not tolerant of the beliefs being forced upon them. So when they refused to acknowledge the new practice by submitting to an exercise called _baptism_, the fighting had broken out.

As it turned out, women and children and village elders were no match for soldiers.

So ultimately, there would be no end to the pain she felt, no mollification for her aching heart. Not unless it was by her own hand because, aside from the stray dog that wandered the outskirts of the town, she was the only one that remained.

She was alone.

It seemed unnaturally cruel that her people were dead, scattered about her in a kaleidoscope of blood and tissue and dismembered limbs, while she lived on. Their eyes were glazed over like the thin sheet of ice that covered the water on the first night of winter, and if she couldn't join them in death, she desperately wished she could at least erase the blank stares and frozen expressions, breathe life back into them.

In the end, though, it was easier to not look at their faces. At the very least, it helped her maintain some semblance of sanity. Because looking meant seeing and seeing meant recognizing and recognizing meant accepting the fact that the person she'd known, spoken to, laughed with only days before was now nothing more than a lump of lifeless flesh, a dead thing bleeding out onto the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied movement.

Despite her resolve to not look at the details, the promise of life had her whipping around so fiercely that the ache in her head surged and threatened to bring her to her knees, but she pushed back against the darkness and searched… she sought the rise and fall of a chest, the turn of a head, the wiggle of fingers. But the only thing she saw was a hint of green that glinted out of existence so quickly she was left wondering if it had even been there to start with.

She stared at the spot between two bodies – _don't look at their faces, don't look at their faces_ – where the movement had been. And as she stared, the air seemed to shiver and tremble unnaturally over the two prone figures. However, as the seconds ticked by and nothing else occurred, the cold awareness that it was probably only her imagination settled around her.

Clenching her teeth in frustration, she turned once more, and had just completed the circle when she saw him.

Immediately, her adrenaline surged.

He stood where no one had been before. A small part of her absentmindedly noted that it was in the exact spot she'd seen the glimmer of green and felt relieved that at least she wasn't losing her mind while the larger part of her consciousness settled on the way the energy flooded her body and made her heart trip a quicker rhythm. It was rejuvenating, and she instinctively raised her sword and readied her stance at the new opponent. She may have been bruised and broken and alone, but she wouldn't go down without a fight.

However, the potential adversary didn't so much as glance at her. Instead, he remained where he was, standing in profile, gazing out at what remained of the village. Without the gratification of action, her vitality slowly seeped away, and in its wake she was able to grasp the fact that the man before her hadn't been part of the original battle.

But then, could he even be considered a man?

Lowering her sword to her side, she studied him.

With gleaming armor and pale skin and fine features and regal stance, he was unlike anything she'd ever seen. The people of her land were as rugged as the terrain, coarse on both the inside and outside, tanned and freckled and red-cheeked from time spent on the open waters. They were a seafaring folk through and through, and there was no place for noble demeanors and elegant garb in the wild lands in which they lived. Not even the Christians had appeared looking like this man did.

So who was he?

And where had he come from?

She briefly wondered whether he was, as the Christians say, the Angel of Death come to take her away to Valhalla or Heaven or wherever it was that the honorable dead went after life was over. But then, all the depictions of the new belief's holy creatures were soft and elegant, wearing white wings and robes.

If that were the case, the person before her didn't belong to the Christians or their singular god. No, he was all dark colors and severe angles. Emerald green and coal black instead of clean white, hard points of armor instead of flowing robes, gilded horns curving in a graceful arc above his head instead of downy wings.

The wind stirred. It played with her hair, causing it to swell and fall, and the movement of it seemed to catch his eye. He glanced from her to the sky to the ground in quick succession before turning to face her completely. Even with the distance between them, he was so tall, so striking, so… intimidating.

"Are you death?"

Her voice ringing out over the press of silence sounded strange in her ears, and considering she hadn't planned on saying anything, the words surprised her. They didn't appear to surprise him, though. He continued to watch her impassively across the space, grey-green eyes boring into honeyed brown ones.

"That depends."

She should have been alarmed; it would have been the natural reaction. If not entirely alarmed, then at least mildly frightened. Even wary would have been wise. However, all traces of common sense where dashed when her feet moved of their own volition, carrying her towards him instead. It seemed courage – or was it foolishness? – hadn't abandoned her, even when intelligence so obviously had.

He followed her approach with an unreadable expression.

"On what?"

With the heat of the potential battle gone, she began to notice the things that her mind had previously shut out – the rank scent of loss on the wind, the burning sting of a gash sliced across her thigh that made her limp, the wet sound of her footfalls, the way her steps slid in the crimson-dyed blades of grass. Her stomach rolled, but she forced down the bile in the back of her throat.

"Death is so final." His focus shifted from her to roam the sea of bodies that surrounded them. "So… real."

The setting sun bled onto the smooth surface of the water behind him, staining it a dark red that perfectly matched the color that covered her arms and armor, and threw him into a dark shadow as she drew close. When only a few yards separated them, she stopped.

A certain numbness burrowed its way into her very bones as she followed his direction, gaze gliding blindly over the slaughter with the constant reminder – _don't look at their faces, don't look at their faces_. Because _that_ was not her aunt, _that_ was not her neighbor, _that_ was not the girl she'd played with as a child. _They_ were nothing if she didn't focus on them. Blank faces… that was all _they_ were.

When her attention slid back to his, she found him to be already looking at her. "Do you fear death, mortal?"

The term didn't escape her notice.

Again, there was the opportunity for wisdom. A sensible person would heed the warning and acknowledge that the situation was dangerous; or perhaps it was simply him that was dangerous. He certainly had the presence of a warrior. It didn't take a behemoth of a man sporting bulging muscles to be deadly, and it wasn't difficult to pick up on the underlying sense that he could kill her whenever he wished. Then again, her father hadn't called her obstinate and willful for no reason.

So while others might have been put off by the address or daunted by the implication that he _wasn't_ mortal, she merely lifted her chin proudly. "No."

The bold response earned her an expression of intense regard, a slightly furrowed brow, and a couple steps. The space between them lessened to mere feet, but she refused to step back in retreat. That didn't prevent her breath from quickening at his proximity, though. He had appeared tall from a distance; up close, he towered over her.

"Why not?"

"Because…" But as soon as she began, words failed her, and she struggled to find the truth within the yawning emptiness of herself.

"That is not a reason."

She frowned.

What held back her fear of death? It was more than the honor of her people, more than having nothing left to lose, more than the apathetic way her heart was beating.

Her eyes lowered and slid to the side. She didn't want to – _don't look at their faces, don't look at their faces_ – but her attention settled first on the grimace of death that twisted a man's mouth and then on the almost serene emptiness of his eyes. And even though her stomach twisted when she recognized him as one of her father's closest friends, at least she found the reason in that vacant stare.

"Because death is simple…" Natural. Calm. Unassuming. "It's life that is difficult."

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, broken only by the crackling fire that still ate at the shell of a house and the mournful wailing of the wind. To her left, a burning timber crashed to the ground, but she didn't turn.

When he finally broke the silence, his voice was low, thoughtful. "There are many that would not share your sentiment."

"Those that don't understand have never stood where I stand now."

Surrounded by her friends and family; or rather, what remained of them. Alone. The word echoed through her mind and felt so wrong and unfair. But then, no one had ever said the fates were kind.

"The only thing I fear is…" She hesitated, then dismissed what she'd been about to say. "Well, I suppose that's not really important."

In the end, fear did nothing and accomplished nothing. What room was there for fear in the dark, bitter places of her heart when it was already full of despair and hurt? It was easier to push it aside.

"Hm…" The contemplative noise had her meeting his gaze yet again, but he didn't expound on what he found so interesting or intriguing or whatever it was that had him watching her the way he was. He only looked back and forth between her eyes a few times before refocusing on some point over her shoulder. "What happened here?"

"I was right in thinking you're not from here." No one could suddenly be in the middle of a battlefield the way he had and not know what happened. When he didn't respond to her comment, though, she offered a vague reply. "A disagreement."

"As far as adequate answers go, yours tend to be lacking."

Fingering the torn hem of her undershirt and pulling on the piece of thread that had come loose, she sighed deeply. "It's a long story."

"I have time."

"I don't."

As if to emphasize her point, the distant sound of a horn drew their attention. Out in the bay, a ship flying a flag identical to the one that was still anchored in the deep water came up alongside it. The wind carried their shouts, and she could just make out the way those on the ship boarded a small boat while others lowered it to the water.

"More Christians." The words had been mumbled to herself more than anything, but he turned back to face her.

"Are they the ones that did this?"

She gave a nondescript shrug. "It seems so silly… for all of this to have happened because of a dispute about gods." Dispassionately, she watched the boat approach the shoreline. "They called us _pagans_; they said we were incorrect in our beliefs. But is the need to be correct worth all of this death?"

"Belief can be a powerful motivator."

He was right. And what burned her even more was the knowledge that her people were just as much at fault. The Christians wished to convert them to their beliefs, but they had resisted with the mindset that their own beliefs were correct. One stubborn set of beliefs pitched against the other; as if force alone could convince a group of people to accept something as true.

So in the end, violence begets violence… and the result of such stalwart and prideful beliefs was the devastation sprawled around her.

"Will you flee?"

Her gaze slid away from the boat and across the fields to the forest in the distance and its backdrop of jagged mountain peaks. There was a path in the midst of the trees that would lead to safety. To run would mean life, but…

"I cannot escape." She didn't need to look down to know the severity of the gash on her thigh; the slow, steady trickle of blood she felt running down her leg said enough. "The horses are gone, and even if I managed to outrun the Christians, I'd probably die before reaching the next village."

A cold shot of… something sliced through her. She'd meant it when she said she wasn't afraid of dying; so it wasn't really the fear of death that sliced through her, but fearful dread of the slow, agonizing prelude to it. She knew all too well what her leg would look like in a few days' time. It would be puffy and oozing with infection, tinged green around the edges, and have the dark lines that promised an eventual demise extending outwards.

She was still struggling under the images when the smooth expanse of a dark breastplate obscured her sight. Blinking, she focused on the line of gold, following its swooping path across to the detailed vambraces on his arms and up to the plates at his shoulder. It wasn't until she felt a touch that she simultaneously leveled him with a wary look and jerked her arm from his hand.

Or she would have, had he not maintained an iron grip.

With the first attempt to break away a resounding failure, she redoubled her efforts, reaching up in an attempt to pry away the fingers wrapped around her forearm. However, he held fast, forcing her hand and the sword it held in a safer direction. "Let go of me."

"Hold still."

"I _said_, let go of me." She growled it out.

"And _I_ said, hold still."

Gritting her teeth, she abandoned grappling with his wrist and focused on a single finger, but the results remained the same – nothing. He didn't even budge when she threw her weight back in a desperate attempt to rip her arm free. It didn't make a bit of sense. She'd never been the strongest girl in the village, but she certainly wasn't weak, by any means.

"Woman…" His warningly stern tone quieted her struggling but not her irritation. "You said you do not fear death. Perhaps you'd like to test the strength of your resolve? No? Then hold still."

Frustrated, she huffed and glared at him, although her scowl was wasted seeing how he wasn't paying a bit of attention to her. Instead, he was looking down, fixated on her injured leg. She irately watched him study the wound, but when he reached out to cover the laceration with his hand, she couldn't help but flinch. It hurt enough on its own; with the added pressure of his hand, the pain of it sent white spots dancing across the backs of her eyelids.

"What are you…?"

But then the discomfort suddenly disappeared and stole her words with it. Her eyes flew open, darting back and forth between his down-turned head and the hand on her thigh. Nervousness set in as the area around the wound began to take on a greenish hue, but when he pulled away, she was astounded to see nothing but smooth, clear skin. No blood, no scar. The only sign that there had even been an injury was the cut in the fabric of her trousers.

Stunned, she breathed. "Sorcery…" People had been put to death for practicing witchcraft in the past, but never had she actually seen the proof of their magic. However, there was no denying the evidence before her now. "Are you a warlock? A magician?"

"I am not human if that is what you ask."

Apparently satisfied with the results of his work, he met her eyes as she absentmindedly slid her thumb back and forth across the freshly healed skin, remembering the way he'd addressed her earlier. "So if you're not mortal, you must be immortal. What are you, a god?"

"Not exactly." The corners of his mouth twitched in thinly veiled amusement, which only proceeded to make her blush in embarrassment. What else was she supposed to think with him appearing out of thin air, wearing exotic armor, calling her a mortal, and possessing magical abilities? "Although that would be the closest thing you mortals would have to describing it."

She considered everything he'd said for a moment.

"Of all the times to appear, you chose the aftermath of a battle. Does that mean _us_ _mortals_…" She deliberately emphasized the term to let him know exactly how much she didn't appreciate the derogatory way in which he said it. "Would call you the God of War?"

"I've never much had the taste for war that others do. My preferences lie elsewhere."

"As in?"

"Mischief." And the way his voice lowered while his lips curled in an impish smile made her inherently nervous.

The wind blowing off the sea carried the approaching men's voices to them, and she wondered which of the two options were least deadly – the Christians and their steadfast belief or the man before her and his crooked smirk.

Regarding him warily, she began to carefully step away from him. "Forgive me if knowing I'm speaking with the God of Mischief doesn't put me at ease."

"It would be unwise if it did…" He took a single step forward, following her retreat. "Especially now that you are in my debt."

Her backward progression came to a jerking halt. "What?"

He looked pointedly down to her leg. "I saved your life. I didn't believe mortals to be so ungrateful that they wouldn't recognize such a significant act."

"They're not." It took her a moment to catch what caused his smirk to widen. When she did, she instantly corrected her mishap. "We're not." He took another deliberate step towards her, but she didn't retreat. In only two more steps, he closed the distance she'd managed to place between them, knocking away the point of her sword when she extended towards him with the back of his hand. She stared without even bothering to hide her suspicion. "You're more or less a god… what could I possibly to do to repay my debt that you couldn't do yourself?"

Really, there were quite a few things he could ask of her, some of them decidedly unpleasant, but she tried not to focus on those.

"My price is nothing you cannot fulfill." He ignored her nervous shifting. "All I require…" Still on edge, she started when he made a strange, twisting motion with his hands. There was a dull flash of green, and when the light faded, he held a small object. "Is that you accept this."

Leaning forward, she tried to get a better glimpse of the item. "What is it?"

Without warning, he tossed the object, and she caught it out of instinct and began to study it. Small, round, unnaturally warm… it didn't appear to be dangerous. But when it began to emit a soft glow, she glanced at him with concern.

"It's only an apple."

"I've never seen any apple that looked like this."

"That is because it is not of Midgard." Her fascination with the fruit allowed her to write the strange word off without question.

After a moment, she hesitantly looked to him. "What should I do with it?" But he only shrugged in response.

"Eat it, plant it, burn it for all I care. It is for you to do with as you see fit. My only requirement is that you accept it."

The crackling fire still burned to her right, and she briefly considered tossing it into the flames. There had to be some kind of catch to the situation, some hidden agenda to his request… she just didn't know what. But instead of throwing it away, or even just letting it fall into the puddle of blood nearby, she discreetly tucked it beneath her breastplate. She'd decide what to do with it later.

He smirked again when she haughtily lifted her chin, daring him to say something. Before he could speak, though, another voice cut through the silence between them. The men had reached the shore and were now coming up the sloping hillside towards the village. Immediately, her heart began to race.

She gauged the distance to the forest. Even with her leg healed, it was unlikely she'd be able to outrun them. The men were too close; she had no choice but to face them. Teeth clenched in determination, she tightened her hold around the hilt of her sword and turned back only to find the – man, god, whatever he was – walking away from her.

"Where are you going?" She followed after him when he didn't stop, not realizing that she'd walked directly into the Christian's line of sight until she heard their reinforced shouting; however, he continued to stride away.

"I do not meddle in the affairs of humans." It was clearly a lie considering how he'd prevented her eventual death, but she chose to keep that thought to herself. "You must fend for yourself now."

She frowned.

Of course he would leave and make her fight her own way out. Still, at least he'd healed her.

"Have you at least decided, then?"

At that, he paused. A particularly strong gust of wind whipped at his cape as he turned his head. He remained in profile for a period before meeting her eyes. One of his eyebrows arched in a silent question, nearly disappearing under the edge of the helmet that dipped low on his brow.

"Are you death?"

Slowly, the brow returned to normal as the corners of his mouth quirked in a wry smirk. "Not today."

They continued to stare at each other, both of them ignoring the approaching men. And when he finally turned, took a step, and disappeared into nothingness, she wasn't even shocked. She stared at the spot where he'd been and watched the telltale slice of green wink out of existence.

But then the Christians were there and she was spinning to face them.

One of them stood in front of the group saying something, but she was so tense with anticipation, she couldn't focus on his words. The only thing she could hear was the rushing of her blood, the way it pounded an angry beat in her ears. The man held up his hands, but the placating motion wouldn't register until later.

At the time, she heard him order his men to go after her; only later would she realize he'd asked her if she was alright. At the time, she saw two of the men rush her; only later would she realize that it had been her that sprinted forward with her sword held high. At the time, she fought back against their ruthless attacks; only later would she realize it had been her on the attack.

Only later would she realize none of the men ever asked her about the strange person she'd been with that had disappeared into thin air.

She battled fiercely, consumed by the fire burning through her veins, without noticing the lack of offensive action against her.

All she was aware of was the metallic scream in the air when steel met steel… the loud crack when she jabbed her elbow into a nose… the way the sea was on fire with the last brilliant light of the sun…

A fist connecting jarringly with her shoulder jerked her from her thoughts, the force of the blow sending her staggering away. She'd only taken two steps when a boot hooked around her ankle and tipped her already wavering stability out of control. The blade slipped from her fingers – she could almost hear her father's voice reminding her that to lose her sword was to lose her life – as she half-stumbled, half-jumped over the things that used to be people.

And she was inanely thinking – _don't look at their faces, don't look at their faces_ – instead of concentrating, so when she slipped in what looked like a twisted bundle of intestines, there was no one to blame but herself.

It only took a moment to fall.

Her hands reached out instinctively to try and catch herself, and everything probably would have been fine if it hadn't been for the body that came up to meet her.

The next thing she knew, she was sprawled across the person's abdomen and her hand had disappeared into the wicked cut that had sliced open the torso. The odors that had been powerful enough when standing were overpowering when only inches from her face – the rotten stink of blood, excrement, and whatever had been the person's last meal. And as if breathing in death wasn't enough, something slick and still partially warm shifted around her hand when she moved.

Then she was looking at the face.

She was _looking_ at his _face_.

And when it sunk in that it was her father beneath her, that it was his slippery organs squelching between her fingers…

Later, she wouldn't know whether she screamed or not. The only thing she'd remember would be the wet sound of her hand pulling free and the violent way her body curled in on itself as she vomited up the contents of her stomach.

She was still heaving when she heard the footsteps through the blood and grass as the leader of the men walked up to kneel in front of her.

"This shall pass, my child." A hand rested gently on her head. "By the grace of God, you will overcome this, and if you seek Him, you will be comforted in your time of need. Only with His strength will you find peace."

Her father used to brush his fingers through her hair when she was young and the nightmares disrupted her sleep, same as her mother had before she died. It would've been easy to pretend it was like those times… she wanted to so bad… but she couldn't. Not when the hand on her head wasn't nearly as large or weighty, not when the fingers were absent of callouses earned through years of sailing and fighting, not when her father was so very, very dead not ten feet away.

The man said something else as he stepped back. Not long after, hands closed around her arms and lifted her up. But she was weak and boneless. She couldn't even muster the strength to resist anymore, just slumped forward, letting them carry her away as the darkness rose up to claim her.

* * *

The burlap was rough against her skin, but it only inspired her to scrub harder.

It had been nearly a week since she'd woken up aboard the Christians' ship. Much to her consternation, she'd been treated well in that week. It would have been easier to despise them if they hadn't given her fresh clothing or three square meals a day or freedom to roam the boat as a guest instead of a prisoner. Hate would have come so much easier if they hadn't expressed their sympathies and apologized for the harsh actions of those that had attacked her village.

No manner of hospitality and kindness could completely wipe away the past, though.

There were times she could still see her mother's blood-flecked lips and the way her rattling coughing would stain the sheets with crimson drops. The vision often came in the dark and quiet of the night, unbidden. Now, that darkness held another image – her father. Not smiling or laughing as he so often had been, but cold and pale and stiff, the only smile being the one carved into his torso.

She resumed her vigorous rubbing.

The bits and pieces of her father's insides weren't beneath her fingernails anymore, but she doubted she'd ever forget how horrified she'd been when she first awoke and noticed the dried particles of him that darkened the white tips of her nails.

"What's your name?"

Having believed herself to be alone in the cargo hold of the ship, she jumped in surprise and looked up to see a small, familiar face peering around a crate. From the moment she stepped out of the sick bay, she had caught the child watching her. It occurred almost daily, but it was always a silent observation full of curiosity. Apparently, though, the girl had finally mustered the courage to speak to her.

With a bored expression, she carefully folded the burlap. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not, but it would be nice to at least know what to call you. My name is Elizabeth." The girl waited, staring at her with a hopeful smile that refused to fade no matter how long the silence stretched. Eventually, and still obviously unperturbed, she meandered around the room. "It's a miracle you're alive… that's what they're saying at least." She pointed to the deck overhead. "They said it is only by God's mercy that you survived what happened."

She almost snorted with disdain.

Mercy.

Is that what they called it?

Elizabeth didn't appear to notice her contempt, though. Instead, she tilted her head in thought. Her face twisted and her brows scrunched together for a moment before asking for clarification. "What _did_ happen on shore?"

Stubbornness and haughtiness, pride and folly, anger and hurt, death and destruction. She saw all too clearly the deeply rotten things of which humans were really made. On shore, she discovered just how ugly the world could really be.

But Elizabeth's eyes were blue and pure and held no knowledge of the evils of the world. It was likely she'd never even experienced loss. So even though reality would set in eventually, she couldn't bear to be the one that tarnished the innocence before her.

"Nothing important."

Elizabeth stared at her suspiciously, but only a moment later, the misgiving was gone. "If you say so." Then, she was skipping across the room and standing on her tiptoes to peer into a barrel packed with strips of dried meat. "So about your name…" After digging a piece of meat out, she took a large bite and continued around it. "If you don't tell me, I'll have to choose one for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what kind of name would you give me?"

"Let's see…" A finger tapped against her lips in a mock show of deliberation. "I think I'd call you Jane."

The name sounded strange. "Jane." She murmured it, and it sounded even stranger on her tongue. At the same time, though, it wasn't altogether unappealing. It could have been worse.

"One of my best friends is named Jane, and you look so very much like her." Their eyes met again, and Elizabeth smiled. "And then Foster, of course, since that's my family name. Jane Foster." If possible, her smile grew even wider. "Yes, I believe that's what I'll call you."

"My name is Signe."

"No." The girl shook her head, mind already made up. "I like Jane better. You know, it actually suits you quite well."

"How so?"

"Well first, the men said that God spared your life because he was compassionate to whatever happened on shore, and second, Jane means God is merciful…" For each of the two points, the girl held out a hand, before clapping them together with a grin. "So, it's perfect!"

It was also ironic.

Mercy received from a god she didn't even know, didn't really care to know, had fought against knowing.

Without warning, the ship pitched. She steadied herself against a barrel of mead, but in the far corner, a small object rolled out of the bundle of her original clothes and armor. Leaning down, she picked it up, immediately recognizing it as the apple the supposed God of Mischief had given her.

A few dark splotches marred the surface, but at her touch, the majority of it still gleamed with that same strange glow that seemed even more unnatural in the murky, dank hold of the ship.

"_Eat it, plant it, burn it for all I care. It is for you to do with as you see fit."_

In the last bit of commotion in the village and her adjusting to life aboard the ship, she'd nearly forgotten about the apple. Now she found herself curiously thinking… wondering…

What did it do?

What would happen if she ate it?

She turned the apple over in her hand, spinning it as though the right angle would suddenly reveal an answer; however, the only thing it revealed were the shadows its faint glow cast on the wall and probably in the hollow spaces below her eyes.

Feeling somewhat silly, she surreptitiously lifted her hand and held the apple to her nose. But sniffing it yielded no results either. If anything, it made it all the more confusing because there was no tang or mildly sweet scent. There wasn't the normal scent of an apple, only some strange, exotic blend of… something she couldn't even properly describe.

Her eyes drifted closed.

It smelled like sunlight that turned the early morning's drops of dew into diamonds or the energy that hovered in the air and made the hair on her arms stand on end after a thunderstorm or the first frost of winter that fell and painted the world a glittering white.

"What are you doing?" She opened her eyes and looked down to the face that had appeared at her elbow. "What is that?"

"I'm… um… nothing." Rotating the fruit once more, she sighed and lowered her hand. "It's only an apple." After a few more seconds of observation, she held the fruit out to Elizabeth. "Are you hungry?"

"No, thank you." Elizabeth backed away, waving her hands. "My parents always told me not to eat food that glows."

She smiled at the girl's lack of concern. If she had been the one to come across a glowing fruit at such a young age, she would have been significantly more inquisitive. Then again, that also explained her inability to set it aside now. "Your parents told you that, hm?"

But Elizabeth had already busied herself with inspecting the contents of a crate. Likewise, Signe – or was she Jane now? – busied herself with inspecting the apple in her hand.

It was a strange thing. Even in her petite hands, it was small; there was also the fact that it felt significantly warmer than normal. Not at all like any of the apples she'd ate in her life. Still, despite its size, temperature, and radiant quality… it was only an apple.

If the man had wanted to hurt her, he could have done so easily. It wasn't like she hadn't given him plenty of chances. At the same time, though, he wouldn't have needed to even dirty his hands. In the end, all he would've had to do was stand back and watch the wound on her leg slowly take her life. But he hadn't killed her… he'd saved her.

Blinking, she watched Elizabeth wrap a silky piece of fabric around her body and twirl before looking out the porthole. The sky was dark and vast, lights glimmering in its depths, while the moon turned the water to silver. Across that water was her home. The structures might have been gone, the people might have been scattered, but it was still her home. Someday, she'd return there… someday when the ache in her heart had lessened and the memories didn't make her breath hitch. For now, though, she'd wait.

She looked down, spinning the apple a few more times. It was only a piece of fruit, just a harmless apple.

What harm could come from eating an apple?

So with the last traces of a small smile on her face, Jane Foster – because there was no room for Signe in the place Elizabeth called England – touched the apple delicately to her lips. Closing her eyes, she could see it. There was sunlight, there was energy, there was winter.

And when she took a bite, it was the taste of time that settled on her tongue.


	3. 1260: Scotland

A/N: I do not claim at all to be an expert on history; I can only say I enjoy reading about it. An unreal amount of researching will be done to try and make each chapter as historically accurate as possible, but I'm only human, so don't hate me if I'm completely off mark with something.

Another humongous thank you to **Hr'awkryn** for being such a marvelous beta!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with Marvel Comics or any of its creations. I can only appreciate the characters they've given us to work with.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"_It's hard to be left behind, but sometimes it's harder to be the one that leaves."_

* * *

1260: Scotland

A lilting melody and the excited voices of the clan members drifted inside, occasionally sounding louder when a breeze stirred the fabric draped over the windows. Jane sighed to herself and paused to wipe a drop of sweat from her brow before continuing the task at hand. Between the hangings that blocked the fresh air from outside and the fire in the hearth, the interior of the dwelling was growing uncomfortably warm.

But they were a necessary evil… the fire replaced the light obscured by the heavy wool window-coverings, necessary now because it wouldn't be proper for everyone to see the bride before she was ready.

"We can take a rest if you'd like." Jane glanced away from the hair twined through her fingers to the woman that peeked up at her from the corner of her eye. "I know you must be tired."

For a moment, Jane considered it.

She was weary, hot, and hadn't seen actual daylight in what felt like an eternity, having been stuck inside for the majority of the past few days making preparations. It would be so nice to rest, actually sit down for a little while or pull back one of the wool hangings and let some of the fresh, cool air inside. There was no time to relax, though. As it was, midday had already passed, which meant the wedding would be happening before too long.

Instead, she shook her head. "I need to finish your hair so we can get you dressed." Not that getting the woman into the gown would take all that long; Jane just didn't want to be scrambling at the last minute trying to get everything done. Knowing that, she resumed braiding and styling her friend's hair.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Edana. If this whole ordeal had been left to Father, I doubt any of this would've come together half as nicely as it has under your direction."

Even after six years, the name still gave Jane pause, although it wasn't nearly as bad now as it had been in the beginning.

Those first few months had been the hardest. Adjusting to a new way of life in the highlands of Scotland had been difficult enough; add trying to remember that she needed to respond to Edana after more than two centuries of being called Jane Foster while in England to that, and an overabundance of embarrassing moments had been virtually guaranteed. On more than one occasion, she'd been going about her daily chores only to realize that someone had been repeatedly calling for her.

Thankfully enough, her odd behavior had been more or less overlooked. She'd like to think that it was because the people of Clan Donald were relatively tolerant, but she was more inclined to believe that it was because the family that had taken her in was one of the older ones in the area. Regardless of the reason, she was indebted to Thome Uviet and his daughter Mariam.

"Yes, he most likely would've gone into a panic." Jane tied off the braid before she began to sweep it and the rest of Mariam's hair into an elegantly twisted design that she'd seen several of the noblemen's wives model during her time in England. "Just count yourself lucky that we're so close. I wouldn't work nearly as hard for anyone else."

"Close is a bit of an understatement, don't you think?" When Mariam began to turn, Jane held the partially secured arrangement with one hand and forced the woman's head back to its original position with the other. All attempts at geniality had been forsaken after the first dozen or so times she'd had to remind her to stay still. "If we can remain strong through the repercussions of ruining Alexander's crops, then I think we can be called something more like sisters."

Jane continued to secure the sections of hair. "If I remember correctly, that was your fault."

"As if I could have let all the cows and sheep out of their paddocks _by myself_…" Mariam chuckled softly. "He was so angry. And even though he knew it was us, he couldn't prove it."

Remembering that night and how Alexander had stood outside their home in his bedclothes nearly pulling his hair out in frustration while he engaged in a yelling match with Thome made Jane smile as well. Thome had insisted he had no idea what Alexander was talking about and had resolutely defended the two girls; however, the keen look in his eyes the following morning when he offhandedly commented on the fresh mud in the house made her believe he knew exactly what had happened.

Still, the fear of being caught hadn't stopped them from collapsing into laughing heaps when they observed Alexander run in circles attempting to chase the sheep from his land.

"I had to burn my favorite dress because of you."

"You were the one that fell so you can't blame that one on me." Mariam tried to meet her eyes, but Jane forced her back yet again, ignoring the woman's exasperated huff. "I can't help that grass stains are impossible to get out."

"Like I said, I wouldn't do those ridiculous things for anyone but you."

"I know…" The woman's face might have been hidden from view, but Jane felt her smile nonetheless. "And I'll remember that for when you get married."

Immediately, Jane dropped her head, trying and failing to hide the groan that worked its way out at the mention of her own marriage. "Please, Mariam, let's not start that again."

Harassing her about the lack of potential suitors in her life had become a favorite pastime of the women in the village. Not a day went by – or at least it seemed that way – that one of the elder matrons wouldn't pull her aside and comment on how most women her age were properly married and with children by now. It didn't take long for her to grow tired of the way they would indiscreetly point out every single man that passed them, but there was little she could do except bite her tongue and accept their suggestions with a polite smile.

That wasn't to say she wasn't interested in any of the men, though.

Things were just… complicated.

"You just wait. One of these days, the right man will come along, and he'll be so incredible that even _you_ can't resist." Jane snorted in amusement, but Mariam disregarded her. "He'll show up out of nowhere to sweep you off your feet, and before you know it, the two of you will be getting married." At the thought, Mariam clasped her hands excitedly. "Then, I'll finally be able to help with your own wedding. I'll style your hair and help you get dressed, and when you have children…"

"For goodness sake, slow down. Can we wait on discussing children until I'm actually married?"

Marriage was enough of a problem under her current situation. The idea of children… well, she didn't even know if that was a possibility given her condition. Still, when Mariam visibly deflated at the dismissal, Jane felt a twinge of regret and rerouted the conversation.

"What about Malcolm? Have you two discussed children yet?"

The question immediately – and predictably – made Mariam sit up a little straighter and smile a little wider as her cheeks flushed a light pink. "Yes, we both want…"

It was mostly things she'd heard before, so Jane partly listened to Mariam as she went on about her future family and partly listened to the growing sounds of people outside as they gathered to await the ceremony. By now, everything outside would be prepared and ready; the only thing left was the bride.

Securing the last lock of hair, she stepped back and observed the end result of her efforts from every angle. Attention to detail was her specialty, and she refused to let her friend get married with even a hair out of place. After a nod of approval, she led Mariam – who continued to explain how their first son would be named William after Malcolm's grandfather – to the far side of the dwelling to help her dress. The gown itself was the traditional white but was special since it was the same one Mariam's mother, who had passed away giving birth, had worn on her wedding day.

With the outfit complete, Jane caught Mariam's eyes, blinking away the moisture she felt in her own. "You look stunning."

Mariam positively glowed. "Do you think he'll like it?"

"He'd be a fool if he didn't." Jane brushed imaginary lint from the dress and smoothed the fabric. "And after all the work we've put into this, if he doesn't positively gape with awe at the sight of you, I'll wrench his jaw open myself."

Laughing, Mariam reached out to grasp Jane's shoulders. "Edana, I know you tire of me always saying it, but you _will_ find someone that makes you happy, someday. I am sure of it." Her hands moved to cup Jane's face. "All of this beauty can't be for nothing." Then, her eyes narrowed in mock jealousy. "It's quite depressing, to be honest. You haven't changed a bit over the years."

With an uneasy laugh, Jane pulled Mariam into a hug and wished her well before exiting the dwelling to join the rest of the townsfolk.

* * *

The rest of the day was a blur.

One minute Jane was watching Malcolm Wallace and Mariam Uviet tie fabric representing the respective colors of their clans together in a knot during the ceremony. The next minute, she was feasting on a giant piece of roasted pig, drinking a stein of mead, and listening to Ailean shamelessly prattle on about the attractive men that were visiting from the other clan. Still the next, she was being led through dance after dance by several of the unmarried men in attendance.

The sun hung low in the sky when Jane finally escaped the MacBryde boy – he'd come to her repeatedly for a dance, which would have been fine had he not stepped on her toes during every number – and moved away from the crowd. Leaning against an ancient willow tree, she watched the festivities go on and allowed herself to finally relax, and before too long, the excitement of the evening faded just enough for exhaustion to creep up on her. When she blinked, it felt like her eyes had turned to sand, and her muscles were sore from the constant rush of the past few days.

Maybe she shouldn't have stopped dancing.

If nothing else, it had been a nice distraction; although she was sure the matriarchs would have made a mental note of each of her partners.

She could already see it. In the weeks to come, there would be rumors about the men she'd been dancing with and the number of times they'd danced and how, surely, there would be another wedding soon because everyone had seen the way the two of them – the 'him' would change depending on who was doing the gossiping – had looked at each other.

Jane closed her eyes.

What she wouldn't give for a nap… or possibly another drink.

"A beautiful lass such as yourself shouldn't be hiding in the background."

It took a moment for Jane to recognize that the voice was speaking to her, and even once she did, she didn't open her eyes. "You must be mistaken; the bride is over there." She waved her hand in the general direction of the gathering. "She's much lovelier than me."

"A questionable statement, at best."

Cracking an eye, she took in the man before her. He was smiling at her good-naturedly but didn't seem familiar, which meant he must have been from one of the visiting clans. "Have you even seen her?"

"There's no need to." Jane looked at him skeptically. While she couldn't be considered plain by any means, all of the extra attention paid to Mariam had left her beyond compare. A blind man could have seen her radiance. "Would you care to dance?"

Clearly, the man wasn't thrown by her look… or dissuaded.

Jane briefly considered denying the man completely and rejoining the celebration, but the idea of engaging in small talk with Ailean was even less appealing than entertaining a stranger. Additionally, if she reentered the festivities, there was the chance she'd be asked to dance again, and her feet couldn't handle another potential MacBryde.

She eyed his proffered hand for a moment. "I don't believe I caught your name."

"Bern Darroch."

A shallow nod accompanied the introduction. But even though there wasn't anything blatantly off about the name, it brought Jane up short.

"Darroch?" When he gave a disarming smile and nod, she smiled thinly in return and turned to the side. "Interesting."

Keeping him at the edges of her sight at all times, she slowly meandered her way around the tree she'd been leaning against and farther away from the celebrations while he followed her every step. It wasn't until they were, for the most part, out of sight that she spoke again.

"I'm quite familiar with all of the Darrochs around here, but I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of meeting a Bern Darroch."

She managed to sound casually unassuming even as her fingers slipped through the slit in the bottom of her pocket to deftly undo the bindings that held a dagger against her outer thigh.

"In fact, I know for certain that the only Bern among them was a child that passed last winter, which means that you…"

The small blade slipped free.

"Are an imposter."

With one fluid motion, she ripped the blade from her pocket and turned to slash at the man's face only for him to firmly catch her wrist. Gritting her teeth, she aimed a punch at his ribs with her other hand, which only ended in that wrist being grabbed as well. It only took a second for her chest to tighten, but her mind immediately worked to calm her, formulating a plan.

With a frightened look on her face, Jane glanced from her right hand to her left hand to his unsettling smile before making her move, but when she attempted to knee him, he side-stepped, pulled her off balance, and swung her around to push her against the tree.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She was still dazed, gasping, trying to recover when he smoothly transferred both of her wrists to one of his hands, pressed the other over her mouth, and stepped forward to effectively trap her with his body.

The loss of any obvious escape routes ignited her natural fight or flight instinct.

Jane violently thrashed against him, not even pausing when she inadvertently hit her own head against the trunk a couple times; however, struggling did nothing but make him chuckle and tighten his grip, the bones of her wrist grinding painfully together. He leaned closer, face inches away from hers, and she absentmindedly reconsidered her earlier decision to handle the situation without disrupting the wedding.

"Stop moving."

She refused and contemplated trying to bite off one of his fingers instead.

"Be still."

Could he see the proof of her alarm as it pounded a racing rhythm against the wall of her throat? Could he hear the fright in her rapid breathing, her exhales puffing over the top of the hand still pressed firmly over her mouth?

"I am not here to harm you, Jane."

The world screeched to a halt at the name she'd left in England. Her body was still tense, quivering with the adrenaline rushing through her veins, but she willed herself to stop fighting against him and pushed away the traces of common sense that insisted she resist him.

When she went still, his smile widened. "Do you promise not to scream?"

The teasing edge to his voice made her eyes narrow as she leveled him with her very best glare. Her defiant expression might as well have been a love-struck one instead, though, for all the good it did. Chuckling, he slowly eased the hand away from her mouth. She was still held captive, trapped between his body and the tree, but just being able to open her mouth gave her some relief.

Music and laughter sounded in the background as the merriment continued. They would hear her if she screamed; they would come after her. The man might cut her throat with the dagger still clenched in her fist before they got there, but the highlanders wouldn't allow him to escape with his life. In the end, it all boiled down to conviction.

Could she trust a complete stranger to keep to his word and not harm her?

But at the same time…

_How_ could she trust a complete stranger to keep to his word and not harm her, especially after he'd accosted her?

Well, technically, she'd been the one to strike first… and throw the first punch… and try to take him down with a knee to his groin… but he'd still been the one to shove her up against a tree and hold her there.

Maybe it was better if she didn't think about it, though, especially since the comparison was somewhat skewed. She had genuinely tried to harm him. The worst thing he'd done was grip her wrists uncomfortably hard.

Jane mentally shook herself and opened her mouth. She watched his eyes harden as he read the intent in hers, then swallowed her scream and quietly demanded. "Who are you?" His responding grin made her inherently nervous.

"You mean you don't recognize me?"

Frowning, she took him in. Blonde hair, scruffy beard, blue eyes, thick build… no, he wasn't any more familiar now than he was when she first saw him. But then she was doing a double take as the features flickered.

It was like watching something in slow motion. Obsidian bled into the golden locks, the facial hair receded before disappearing entirely, and wisps of grey and green chased away all traces of blue from the eyes. And when the tartan wool grew indistinct and shimmered into strong, clean lines of black and green, she was left staring at an annoyingly familiar God of Mischief.

"Loki." She exhaled a sharp sigh. "I should have known."

It had been a while since she'd seen him – ten, maybe twelve years – but he wasn't someone that was easily forgotten.

"It's good to see you too, Jane."

Pursing her lips at the greeting, she looked pointedly up to where he still held her wrists above her head. When he didn't move – even though she knew he understood exactly what she wanted – she contemptuously arched an eyebrow. A few seconds passed by; then a few more before he finally released her and stepped back.

"One of these days, we'll be able to greet each other without you trying to kill me."

Jane didn't move away from the tree, just collapsed back to lean against it as she restored the dagger to its position at her thigh, idly rubbed her wrists, and shot him a look that he coolly ignored in favor of watching the celebrations behind her.

"I haven't tried to kill you _every_ time."

Tilting his head, attention following what she assumed to be a dancing couple in the distance, he offhandedly refuted her statement. "The first time we met, you were prepared to fight me with your sword."

"You appeared in the middle of a battleground. I was still upset about everything that had just happened." She resolutely pushed aside both the memory and the dull ache it caused even to this day.

"And the time you endeavored to push me out the window?"

"Elizabeth was coming up the stairs; if she'd seen you, the entire city would have heard her screaming. Anyway, you didn't fall, and even if you had, it wasn't even that far of a drop. I highly doubt you would've died." At the last moment, he'd disappeared, leaving Jane to topple to the floor, and she'd been forced to explain why she was sprawled on the ground to a confused Elizabeth.

"What about the instance where you threw a dagger at my chest?"

"It's not exactly normal for a person to suddenly be at the foot of my bed in the middle of the night. I was startled and reacted accordingly." As frightening as it had been, she was at least thankful he hadn't been wearing his helmet. Between the darkness and the horns, Loki would've looked like the devil himself.

"And now you try to slit my throat."

"How was I supposed to know that was you? When an unfamiliar man approaches me and is caught in a lie, I tend to think it better to act first and question later, especially considering the sore relations between the clans." It hadn't taken her long to learn of the bad blood between some of the highlanders. "Perhaps next time you will think twice before taking on the appearance of someone else."

Jane watched the beginnings of a smirk play at his mouth and thought about pointing out that he'd only named four examples, but remembering that there were quite a few more that he could mention, she decided to remain silent. Then again, the annoyingly mischievous look in his eyes when he glanced away from the wedding and back to her made her think he was just as aware of what he hadn't mentioned as she was.

"You are full of rationalizations, Jane."

She abandoned rubbing at her wrists to throw up her hands in frustration instead. "I wouldn't have a need to justify anything if you didn't simply appear whenever the mood struck you." Letting her head fall back against the rough bark of the tree, she rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. "Why do you even come to me?"

"I am, by nature, curious."

She breathed an unamused laugh and muttered to herself. "I don't believe that for a moment." But that wasn't completely true. She believed that he was curious, just not that his inquisitiveness was the only reason for visiting her. "Is there no one else that you can observe and bother?"

"Mortals do not interest me."

"I am human…" Peeking at him from beneath her lashes, she saw that he'd stepped closer while her eyes were closed. "In case you've forgotten."

"Human, yes. Mortal, no." As if she needed the reminder. "I have no interest in watching mortal humans muddle their way through Midgard." He stepped even closer, the measured action making her eyes open completely. "However, I do find it interesting to watch an immortal human work her way through the ages of the world."

The realization that something wasn't right had come to Jane slowly. She'd lived with Elizabeth and her family for almost thirteen years after arriving in England, and during that time, she never felt or acted any differently. Really, the lack of change wasn't something she even noticed. In the end, Elizabeth had been the first to mention it.

"_Your hair is as beautiful as ever, Jane." The brush slid smoothly through the wavy strands. "Aunt Isabell's is already spattered with grey, but yours remains as pure as the first day I saw you. No wrinkles, either." She set the brush down and sighed winsomely. "I can only hope to look so youthful when I am the same age."_

Not two years after that, Jane had left. No explanations, no goodbyes… just packed her belongings and disappeared into the crowd of London. It wasn't until she'd been required to do the same thing to two more families that Loki finally explained the truth of what happened to her.

Needless to say, she hadn't taken the news well.

Crossing her arms, she stared unseeingly at the grass between their feet, listening to the merriment. The current song came to a close, and in the momentary silence before the next one began, she heard everyone laugh uproariously as old man Lùcas loudly – and probably drunkenly – finished telling a story. But then the music picked back up, and Jane could almost visualize Malcolm grabbing hold of Mariam and spinning her around to the quicker tempo.

Malcolm would be holding his new wife close, smiling down at her. Mariam would be reveling in their moment of happiness, laughing as her husband twirled her. Their parents would be watching them cheerfully, already imaging their future grandchildren. The rest of the townsfolk would be, if nothing else, grateful for the chance to celebrate.

Completely normal… every single one of them.

And then there was Jane.

Jane that had made a fool of herself learning the ways and customs of the Scots. Jane that had shared a room with Mariam for the past six years. Jane that had beamed as she watched the ceremony uniting the couple.

Jane that had slipped almost seamlessly into the highlanders' lives.

Jane that would slip almost seamlessly out.

Another bout of laughter cut through the music; this time, though, Jane turned. Keeping her body hidden behind the tree, she leaned over just enough to peer around. It was exactly as she'd imagined – Malcolm and Mariam dancing while everyone smiled, laughed, _lived_ around them.

Jane fingered the bark beneath her hands. "Sometimes I wish you hadn't found it so fascinating." Because although she was alive, at the same time, she wasn't… not really.

"You ate the apple of your own accord, Jane."

It was the truth. He'd only required her to take the apple. Afterwards, she could have tossed it aside, thrown it overboard, pawned it off on someone else. She didn't have to eat it. However, just because it was the truth, that didn't make it right.

"But I did so without knowing the consequences."

A lie by omission was still a lie.

Loki was silent for so long she thought he'd left, but then his voice came softly, pensively. "Do you regret it?"

Her eyes drifted, focused on the willow tree and its draping branches that stirred in the breeze. She rolled the answer around in her mouth, testing its candor, before she replied. "Yes." Then, her attention moved back to the people. "Life is only precious _because_ it ends. When you live forever, what's special about it? What is there to live for?"

"I've told you before – you can die the same as anyone else, just not by the hands of time."

Brows pulled together in a frown, she turned to face him, taking in his carefully guarded expression. "That's even worse. Because of your _curiosity_,I am left with only three options – death at the hands of someone else, death by my own hand, or an eternity of leaving those I care for behind."

It wasn't the most appealing of choices.

But still… death by anyone's hands, including her own, wasn't what she wanted. There was something drastically different between being willing to meet death head-on and going through life seeking it out.

That left her with having to say goodbye. Over and over, she left people, forged new friendships and relationships, and left again, a continuously tragic cycle. Time worked to numb the pain, though, building a scar over that place in her heart that had been repeatedly cut when she turned her back. But while leaving had grown easier over time, it was never exactly easy.

Even if she was immortal, she was still human at heart.

"Do you desire an apology for my giving you the apple?"

The question made her stop and blink before she arched a brow. "Would you give me one if I asked?"

His blank expression pulled away just enough to reveal a smirk. "No."

"I figured as much." She sighed. Then, her lips turned upwards in a mirror image of Loki's – there was little use in dwelling on things she couldn't change – and she chuckled. "I doubt I'd believe you if you did."

Between their slight smiles, the gravity of the moment dissipated and Jane was left feeling strangely… complacent. She leaned against the tree again, watching Loki, following his progress as he took a couple steps to the left and looked at the rolling hills of the highlands, then a couple steps to the right and looked at the dense forest line. Back and forth he went, all the while winding his way closer to her.

"This is a new setting." He reached out to touch one of the branches and rubbed his fingers together when they came away sticky with sap. "It is a pleasant change after the monotonous, grey stone of the last place you called home."

"London."

"Unimportant."

Jane shook her head, emotions falling somewhere between exasperation and amusement at his haughty tone. "It _is_ nice. You should see it in autumn, though. The entire forest turns the color of fire, and the north winds make the leaves fall and coat the ground."

Pausing, she remembered how Mariam would help her pile the leaves together so the children could jump in them and the times they would walk the leaf-covered trails down to the brook.

"It is nothing compared to the splendor of the Realm Eternal."

"How would you know if you've never seen it?" Not that Loki ever seemed to admire much about her world anyway. He was more inclined to comment on the inferior quality of their structures than the beauty of the clear, night sky.

"It doesn't matter how exquisite it might be." Several leaves fell from the tree when he flicked the branch. "There is little that can hold a candle to the sights in Asgard."

Jane absently watched a few more leaves tumble over themselves to the ground. "Well, I think it's beautiful. It's a shame I have to leave soon."

The leaves ceased their falling, and Jane looked up to see Loki staring at her.

"When?"

She gave a noncommittal shrug. "Not immediately. But probably before next spring."

Before today, the attention had been split relatively evenly between Mariam and Jane, as far as their futures were concerned. However, with Mariam now married, the focus would fall solely on Jane. There would be comments about her still living at home, prodding about when she was getting married… eventual remarks on how she still looked exactly the same as when she'd first arrived. If Mariam was already noticing it, it would only be a matter of time before others did as well.

Yes, she'd have to leave within the year.

Loki's forehead knitted with an unusual look of bewilderment. "I don't know if I will ever understand your unfailing ability to grow attached to every person you come into contact with."

"Does that generalization also apply to you?"

If he heard her remark – even though she knew he did; nothing ever escaped his attention – he didn't respond to it. Instead, he moved to stand directly in front of her and pointed past the tree to the highlanders. "Those people are not your family."

"Loki, someday you'll realize that there is more to being family than a mere bond of blood."

The perplexed expression faded to be replaced by a curled lip and a sneer. "A nice sentiment, but it will not prevent them from dying."

"That may be true, but my people are dead, in case you've forgotten." Anger had never been her vice, but this time she allowed a sliver of it to curl through her voice. "This clan… the next group… the one after that… they are my people now. Those with which I align myself become the only family I have."

The heavy silence that welled up between them was a stark contrast to the light-hearted sounds in the background. It hung thick and dense, a tangible thing. And as they stared at each other, Jane wondered if the sparks of pride and conviction in their eyes would ignite the air.

"Eventually, you will come to realize it is easier to not forge emotional attachments."

Jane issued a wry smile. "We'll just have to agree to disagree on that. It may be hard to leave people, but the idea of living through year after year with no companions is…" She trailed off. Words couldn't properly describe the bleakness of an eternity spent alone, the hollowness of it.

"I wonder how many times you will endure saying goodbye." That curiosity he'd spoken of played in the depths of his eyes as he studied her intently.

"As many as I have to, I suppose."

They descended into another bout of silence, each of them regarding the other. In the quiet, the world seemed to condense and narrow around them, and as her eyes flicked back and forth between his, she distantly wondered if the slightly cruel edge to his mischievousness was a natural tendency or a product of his surroundings.

It was likely she'd never know. Loki was notoriously guarded when it came to revealing information, which meant she knew next to nothing about him. She knew that he was, more or less, a god; she knew he resided in a world called Asgard, a distinct realm apart from her own; she knew that he was somewhere around twelve hundred years old, which was just as staggering to think of now as it was when she first found out; she knew that, unlike the majority of his people, he had an aptitude for magic. But he remained silent about the truly important things.

What had made him appear in the wreckage all those years ago?

Why had he healed her?

What was the real reason behind his continued visits?

Why had he given her the apple?

Jane tried not to dwell on the questions too much. She had no doubts that they were all connected in some way, but the lack of answers would run circles through her mind and only ended up giving her a headache. Still, she knew there was more to his motivations than mere curiosity, no matter what he said.

If she played the situation right, he might eventually reveal things to her. It hadn't taken long for her to learn that yelling and anger didn't faze him; the time she'd demanded answers about why he'd given her the apple and cursed her with immortality, he'd snidely remarked that every decision comes with a price and disappeared for almost thirty years. Since then, what little she knew had been found out through calm interactions and carefully worded questions.

Not that he was ever unaware of what she was trying to do. He was far too skilled in reading people – or maybe it was just her – to be played. So, if she were to follow that line of thought, that meant any information she'd worked from him had been freely given and, in reality, he was playing her.

Regardless of who was playing who, though, she still desperately wanted to know his reasoning. A person didn't just show up, heal someone, and then curse them with immortality for the fun of it.

Hopefully…

And now she had a headache.

"Edana!"

Loki didn't react to the shout; the name meant nothing to him. Jane, however, automatically responded, spinning around so quickly that she almost knocked him with her elbow – when had he gotten so close to her? – and peeked around the tree.

"I'm assuming that means something to you." There was a dry edge to his voice, but whether it was because she wasn't paying attention to him any longer or because she'd nearly hit him, she didn't know.

Through the crowd of people, she could just see Mariam craning her neck, searching for Jane. She'd been gone for too long; her absence had been noted. When she called out again, a few more started to look around, and Jane turned back to Loki.

"I have to go. They're looking for me."

"Edana?"

"It's my name here. You can't expect Jane Foster to fit in every country."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she was already moving away from him, easing her way around the tree and stepping carefully over the roots. As soon as she was out in the open, the highlanders noticed her, and Mariam enthusiastically waved her over.

Jane spared one more glance for Loki, still hidden behind the girth of the tree. "Next time, skip the guise and show up as yourself. If you do, I promise not to try and kill you."

"Try being the key word." But then he gave her an imperious look. "You're so certain I'll return?"

"You always do." Grinning at him, she gathered her skirts in one hand and began to make her way back to party, calling back to him over her shoulder. "Besides, you were the one that said it was curiosity that keeps you coming here to visit me. Aren't you _curious_ as to what I'll be doing in fifteen years?"

She never looked back to the tree, but the low chuckle she'd heard as she walked away stayed with her for the rest of the evening. And the following evening. And the evening after that. It stayed with her for pretty much every evening… until he appeared to her fifteen years later to the day.

* * *

A/N2: Just a fun history fact – when Mariam is talking about naming her firstborn son William, that's a direct reference to William Wallace who would eventually become one of the leaders during the wars for Scottish independence in the late thirteenth century. Also, some of you might recognize him as the main character from the movie Braveheart.


	4. 1349: Strasbourg

A/N: While writing this, I realized I keep making Christians out to be the bad guys. In reality, I'm just trying to portray these moments in history as they really were, so I hope no one is getting offended. This should be the last one to deal with any sort of religiously-centered dispute.

Also, I know some of these beginning chapters might seem slow, but hang in there. Things will pick up in the next chapter, I promise.

Another humongous thank you to **Hr'awkryn** for being such a marvelous beta!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with Marvel Comics or any of its creations. I can only appreciate the characters they've given us to work with.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"_The wolves are on the prowl – can you smell the blood? Today the sky will fall."_

* * *

1349: The Free City of Strasbourg

"It's infested."

"The work of the Jews, no doubt; their sins are polluting the town."

"More of them arrived just the other day."

"They carry death with them. Something must be done before they bring God's wrath upon us all."

"What should we do?"

The fine hairs on the muzzle of the horse tickled Jane's palm as he sought the carrot she held, but she barely noticed. Reaching up, she distractedly scratched the white line that ran between his eyes and gripped the harness a little more firmly with her other hand when he shifted, lowering his head to bump against her chest with affection.

For all intents and purposes, she was doing nothing more than handle the horse as Christoph tended to his swollen hock. In reality, she was actively listening to the group of citizens that had gathered around the city well, their voices and the malcontent they held carrying easily across the courtyard.

Strasbourg was restless…

Another horse lumbered by and crossed her line of sight, pulling a cart loaded with planks from the saw mill. When it hit a hole in the cobblestones, the timbers cracked and shuddered loudly, making the horse in her own hands jerk and side-step nervously. Jane quickly regained her hold on the animal, but not before his skittering knocked Christoph from the upturned bucket he sat on.

"Josefine, if you cannot pay attention, what use are you to me? I do not pay you to daydream and pet horses – now, hold him steady." He continued to grumble under his breath while he righted his makeshift stool.

The truth was that Christoph paid her very little, far less even than the other women that worked for him. Still, sewing new clothing to be sold to the general populace and, on rare occasion, to the nobles at the higher end of society was far easier than her stint harvesting hay had been, and her wages were just enough to provide the necessities. She had a roof over her head, a fire to stave off the cold winter, and food to eat, which was more than she could say for a great number of the people she'd seen sleeping on the streets when she'd passed through certain parts of France.

So instead of making a comment, Jane bit her tongue and walked the horse in a wide circle to calm him down, eventually bringing him back around to Christoph. Satisfied, he went back to wrapping the hock while she focused more carefully on the task at hand instead of the shouts from the well. She couldn't afford to let the horse get away from her again; if she did, Christoph would most likely send her home without pay.

"They're working themselves into a fury."

Jane glanced over her shoulder to the voice behind her and then to the well. "Again." As the man stepped up beside her, she turned back to the horse. "It happens almost daily now."

"It's to be expected." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. "Without the power of the town council around to protect them, I suspect the city will rise up against the Jews any day now."

The unease was steadily growing among the people as the pestilence spread throughout the land. There were rumors… dreadful stories of entire cities laid to waste, the people overtaken by a disease that caused them to vomit blood and covered their body in tumors that oozed death.

In the beginning, those rumors had only been the faint whisperings of fear when news of the tragedies that plagued other towns reached Strasbourg's ears by those traveling the trade routes. But all traces of those hushed discussions were over. With most everyone having seen at least some proof of the sickness, it didn't matter that the disease hadn't reached Strasbourg yet.

Originally, the populace's discontent was a weakly burning flame, something that could be contained.

Now, it was a towering pyre, one that demanded a sacrifice.

It had only been a few days, but there were times Jane could still hear the yelling of the council members as the rioting citizens had pulled them from their parliament building. In the end, their stalwart defense of the Jews' innocence in the face of all the accusations had been their undoing. And the new town council was not nearly as understanding as their predecessors. Since they'd been placed in power, Jane had watched groups of Jews disappear into the town prisons and not come out.

Fear, it seemed, had become a dark knight that held the citizens of Strasbourg in his iron fist and pointed his warped blade of justice at the Jews.

Jane spared another glance for the horde. A man had stepped onto the rock that lined the well and alternated between pointing into its depths and gesturing to the far side of the city where the majority of the Jewish population resided. When he made a violent slashing motion across his throat, the mob screamed in support.

"I'm beginning to fear the same thing."

"Heinrich!" Christoph's voice put an abrupt end to their conversation as Jane immediately snapped to attention, head whipping back around to face the horse and hands tightening on the harness.

The man at her side, however, moved slowly, casually crossing behind her and extending his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. "Christoph!" Bravado was laced thick through his voice. "How are you, old friend?"

"I'm not your friend. And I'd be a lot better if my girls would actually _get some work done_." The last few words were yelled over his shoulder to the faces that had appeared in the windows of the shop at the sound of Heinrich's voice. "I swear, Heinrich, if you don't stop distracting my girls…"

"My apologies, Christoph." To his credit Heinrich didn't even appear to be fazed by the other man's impressive glare. "Considering your rather beautiful worker here has repeatedly denied my attempts at courtship, I was unaware that my presence would have any effect on her whatsoever." He deliberately stepped between Jane and Christoph, and her eyes automatically came up to meet his. "Am I distracting you, my lady?"

But before Jane could do anything more than sternly shake her head at him – if she got sent home without pay because of him, she'd hurt him herself – Heinrich yelped and moved away, carefully stepping over the bucket that Christoph had thrown at him as he rubbed his lower back.

"There's no need to resort to violence."

"I told you to stop distracting my girls! And she's not the only one I'm talking about, either." Jane tried not to stare at the confrontation but failed miserably when Christoph pointed at her. Apparently, she wasn't the only one that failed. The windows had once again filled with the rest of the seamstresses.

Heinrich borderline whined. "That's still not a valid reason to…"

"I said, get back to work!" The faces immediately disappeared, and Jane was left biting her lip to keep from smiling at the red hue spreading across Christoph's face. "I'm going to make sure those empty-headed women are doing their job, and when I get back, you…" He marched up to poke Heinrich in the chest. "Better be gone."

With an annoyed grunt, Christoph stomped towards the building, leaving a grinning Heinrich in his wake. Jane, who'd been discreetly watching his retreat around the horse's face, jumped when he called back to her.

"Josefine, put the horse up and go fetch some water." Then, he vanished into the structure.

Breathing a quiet sigh to ease some of the tension she felt, Jane led the horse to the stable. Having grown up together, Heinrich always knew exactly how to push Christoph's buttons. And while it was, without a doubt, amusing to watch, the one-sided confrontation between the two men only made her think of the two-sided unrest in the city.

"He's turned into quite the unpleasant fellow over the years, hasn't he?"

"I couldn't say. He's been that way since I got here." Closing the stable door, she grabbed the water bucket and began to make her way to the well. Thankfully, at some point during her preoccupation with Christoph and Heinrich, the mob had dispersed.

"Well, I can certainly vouch that he wasn't always… how he is now." Heinrich fell into step beside her. "But then, the times have grown dark as of late."

Considering how things had regressed just within Strasbourg, Jane could only imagine how gross of an understatement that probably was in regards to the surrounding countries. "I take it things haven't looked promising in your travels?"

"No, they haven't."

Heinrich was notoriously well-traveled, his business dealings often carrying him from one country to another. He'd been from the southernmost point of Italy to the western shores of Spain and up to England; one time, he'd even told her of a harrowing journey into Russia. So the implication that the state of affairs was dismal everywhere else only confirmed her thoughts.

They were silent the rest of the walk to the well. But once they reached it and she prepared to draw a bucketful of water, his hand darted out to touch her forearm.

"Josefine…" Startled, her eyes darted to his, and as quickly as he'd reached out to her, he pulled away. He seemed so unsure, the swagger that was so common with him melting away into something that was far more real. "You need to leave this place. I don't say it simply out of a desire for your company by my side but out of a genuine concern for you. Something is about to happen; I can feel it."

It would be a lie if Jane said she wasn't surprised by his request, because as often as Heinrich had shown an interest in her, she'd always been more inclined to write it off as playful flirtation and friendship. But personal interest aside, she knew he was right. Because even though Strasbourg had yet to be consumed by the pestilence, it was already being consumed from within by its own people and their fearful rage.

"The rest of the land is in chaos. I wouldn't have you caught up in that when it arrives here."

The use of 'when' instead of 'if' wasn't comforting in the least. Instead, Jane felt something ominous settle in the pit of her stomach. "If everything is as bad as you say, where would we go?"

"North." Heinrich broke their gaze to watch another man approach the well but continued talking, albeit softer. "It would be dangerous to make our way back through France, but if we can get to the English Channel, we can make it safely to Iceland."

Deep in thought, Jane picked at the metal rim of the bucket. She had no qualms about leaving Strasbourg; it was one of the few places she'd lived where she hadn't forged any real emotional ties, which meant there was little that incited her to remain. But to journey back through France… things had been starting to disintegrate when she'd passed through two years before. Travelling through the country now would be to willingly court death.

Her immortality would do nothing to stave off disease… but what other choice did they have?

The other man drew closer, and unwilling to be heard, Jane turned her back to the well and tried to appear casual as she stared back at the stable. Rumors of the sickness weren't the only thing that had been reaching Strasbourg; Jane had heard several accounts of people attempting to flee towns only to be killed under the suspicion of having been one of those bringing down the pestilence because of their sins. It wouldn't do for their discussion to be overheard.

Jane whispered under her breath. "When would you leave?"

"As soon as possible. My men are ready; they wait only for my word."

Heinrich spoke just as quietly, and she found herself wondering again at what all he'd witnessed. Had he seen people trying to escape only to be killed? Had he seen the sick houses that contained those succumbing to the spreading death? Had he seen the purported mountains of bodies piled outside town walls or the massive graves in which they were half-heartedly buried? Had he seen the scavenging animals dig the bodies from their shallow tombs to gnaw on the remains?

She was still contemplating her reply when the sound of footsteps stopped behind her.

"And what are you two doing loitering about the well? Seeing how your bucket's still empty, you're clearly not here to fetch water. I _know_ you weren't tampering with the well."

Heinrich's eyes briefly flicked to hers. There was an edge to the man's voice, the last statement coming out in a dangerously suggestive drawl, but Jane turned to face the newcomer. Wendelin. Her mind supplied the name and recognized him as the same man that had been stirring the mob into an uproar earlier. Immediately, words were on the tip of her tongue.

"I assure you, sir, we're only here to retrieve some water for Christoph, but while here, we became distracted with what your group must have been discussing earlier. We saw the gathering but were unable to join you. Is there any news from the council?"

She spoke smoothly, reassuringly. At some point in the past three centuries – between concocting stories of her heritage, her family, her very existence – Jane had learned to lie quite convincingly. However, her skills at deception could have been barely meager and it wouldn't have made much difference. The thought of bringing in more supporters to his crusade apparently made Wendelin willing to accept any excuse.

He nodded, face darkening at the topic. "Yes, I heard the council has taken more than one thousand Jews into custody. They're to be questioned."

"Questioned?"

"Have you not heard, girl?" The man eyed both Jane and Heinrich suspiciously for a moment but continued. "They're conspiring to put an end to the rest of us."

Lifting his chin to the left, he indicated to a group of Jewish women on the far side of the courtyard. Even across the distance, Jane could see their anxiety. Eyes trained on the ground, heads lowered, shoulders hunched in trepidation… they clung to the shadows next to the buildings as they discreetly made their way home.

"The Jews have been poisoning the wells in all the cities around here. It's only a matter of time before they begin to poison our water supply as well so they can watch us die."

It was a ridiculous notion. What sense would there be in the Jews poisoning the water if they had to drink from it also? Poison was poison, deadly to anyone and everyone that consumed it; they wouldn't be immune to its effects.

A motion caught Jane's attention, and her focus darted from Wendelin to a couple rats that scurried across the cobblestones. The rapid growth of the towns over the past few years had attracted the rodents, which were now nearly as plentiful as the humans, if not more so. They lived, scavenged, and bred among them, their population growing ever larger, and there was little anyone could do about it.

Fighting a disgusted grimace, she watched them disappear into the larders of a distant house. It wasn't the first time she'd had the idea that maybe – just maybe – the rats were more at fault for the spreading sickness than any believed immorality or religious bigotry. After all, they were literally everywhere. But it only took being scoffed at once by several of the townsfolk for her to keep the idea to herself.

Still…

"All the new law keepers need is a confession for them to face the consequences of their sins." Face twisted in loathing, he spat in the well. "Filthy Jews." Then, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

Jane silently watched Wendelin disappear into the crowd before leaning over the edge of the well. The reflection of the sky outlined her dark silhouette in the water below. She didn't know how to explain it, but she just knew that the epidemic wasn't caused by anything humans had done, be it poison or sin. The only thing dirty about the water in the well was the spittle that floated on the surface, spewed from a prejudiced and intolerant mouth.

"Will you come with me, Josefine?"

The bubbles popped and disappeared, but the sentiment behind it remained. It festered, spread, devoured; the entire city was infected with it. She needed to leave.

"Yes."

Heinrich gave a curt nod of approval. "I'll give you the night to pack your belongings. We leave in the morning."

* * *

One of Jane's earliest memories was of her mother. It was indistinct, fuzzy from years of other memories piled on top of it, but she didn't need images to remember the hundreds of other details that comprised the moment.

_The room spun around her as she bolted upright with a yell, heart racing with fear and hand clutching at her chest. Immediately, her mother was there, the cot dipping with her weight as she pulled her into an embrace. She sat there and listened to her mother's slow, steady heartbeat until her own heart calmed to match it. Only then, did she become aware of the murmured words and the comforting hand that gently stroked her hair._

"_There is nothing to fear. The dreams are just dreams. They cannot harm you, nor can the darkness of the night. Never fear the night."_

_Gradually, her muscles relaxed, and as the tension seeped away, it left her boneless and sagging against her mother. Never ending the embrace, they stretched out on the cot. A piece of straw poked at her back through the fabric beneath them, but she didn't even care, just listened to her mother repeat the phrases over and over._

"_There is nothing to fear. The dreams are just dreams. They cannot harm you, nor can the darkness of the night. Never fear the night."_

_The wind howled beyond the dwelling while the wooden beams creaked under its force, but the fire in the hearth crackled merrily. Its heat spread out to warm her face, and by its dim light, she stared up at the crisscross pattern of the thatching overhead. Fingers began to comb through her hair once more. Closing her eyes, she fingered the heavy wool blanket._

"_There is nothing to fear. The dreams are just dreams. They cannot harm you, nor can the darkness of the night. Never fear the night."_

_They breathed in time with each other – rise and fall, rise and fall – and she mouthed the words._

"_Never fear the night."_

It was funny – in an ironic sort of way – how similar her first and last memories of her mother were. They were both in the same dwelling with the crosshatch roof and the cot that was her bed. They were both accompanied by the same sound of winter wind and popping fire. They were both set to the same words. Only, when Jane pressed her ear to her mother's chest that last time, she'd listened to the slow, steady heartbeat that had calmed her countless times through the years slow… and falter… and stop.

On her deathbed, her mother had told Jane to never fear the night because, after all, the dark was only caused by an absence of light. And that thought usually helped her when the weight of the past came up to haunt her.

But during that last night in Strasbourg, the dark churned with terrors.

All through the night, Jane tossed and turned as sleep eluded her. And the few times she did manage to fall asleep, she was immediately woken by nightmares that left her drenched in sweat. They were terrible things, full of fire and screaming and a weight so heavy it stole her breath. But as frightening as the nightmares were, wakefulness wasn't much better… not when the silence of the night was torn apart by the intermittent screams of the tortured Jews.

The cries brought back raw memories, images and sounds cutting through her and ripping at her heart. Usually, she'd draw on the companionship of those around her to push away the past, but here in Strasbourg, she was alone. And being alone only made the pain of the past that much stronger.

There was blood-stained grass and the flashing edge of a sword and the wet sound of cleaved skin and a limp hand in hers… and all she could think was that three hundred hears hadn't changed the world in the slightest and that mankind could still be so very ugly.

So Jane laid there in the dark, unwilling to sleep and face the nightmares yet unwilling to remain awake and face the screams, and placed the pillow across her face, pressing the ends firmly to her ears to try and block the sound. Then, with her breath hot and moist in the narrow space, she whispered to herself.

"Never fear the night."

"Never fear the night."

"Never fear the night."

And if she truly concentrated, she could almost feel the soothing motion of fingers through her hair.

* * *

When the sky began to lighten with the first hint of dawn, Jane had never felt more relieved.

The covers were thrown aside haphazardly, and she stoked the fire to chase away the chill in the room before moving to the window to watch the coming daybreak. She was to meet Heinrich at the city gates when the sun had fully risen, which meant there was still time to waste. Regardless, she dressed quickly and attempted to tame her hair into something presentable, although those efforts were abandoned in favor of plaiting it into one, long braid when the curls refused to cooperate.

She'd just finished gathering the last of her things and had begun to tie the tails of her makeshift rucksack when she spied a movement in the shadowed corner of the room. Her hands faltered slightly, the fabric slipping through her fingers, but she resumed the task without looking up. She didn't have to; she knew who it was.

"What are you doing here?"

The shadows stirred, and out of the roiling stepped a familiar figure. Even in her peripheral vision, Loki was unmistakable. "I would think that fairly obvious. I'm certainly not here to admire the décor."

He moved over to the small table in the corner, trailing a finger across the footboard of the bed as he went. She didn't respond, though. Instead, she silently looped the last ties of the rucksack into a knot and listened to him fiddle with the dishes on the table. When she finally straightened, he was holding her teapot and staring at her with an inquisitive expression.

"Are you well, Jane?"

The restless night had left her feeling bland, something Loki was clearly able to pick up on, but she was unwilling to discuss the particulars of why she'd been up all night with him. "What makes you ask that?"

"You seem… off." Lip curling, he glanced out the window. "Not to mention Midgard reeks of illness."

With a sigh, she dropped the pack by the door and began to straighten the bedcovers. "If you're wondering if I'm sick, the answer is no." Not yet, anyway. "Even if I was, I don't see why that would matter to you."

"In all honesty, it doesn't." Her eyes flicked to his, then rolled at the hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth. "But if you were to join the ranks of the dead, this realm would become significantly less interesting. As it is, the vast majority of it is dull."

Jane wasn't quite sure whether to be annoyed by his combined presence and backhanded compliments or grateful for the opportunity to focus on something else in the hopes that the lingering images in the back of her mind would disappear. In the end, she decided on neither and settled for indifference.

"Well, I'm sorry to say this, but I don't have time to entertain you today." A bright sliver of light cracked the edge of the horizon. Before long, the sun would be completely up, which meant she needed to start making her way to the gates.

With one last look at the room – she deliberately let her attention slide over Loki without focusing on him – she crossed over to the door and reached down for her rucksack. But just as she was getting ready to throw it over her shoulder, the church bell tolled and startled her so much that she dropped it with a thump, instantly looking to the window.

It was too early for any type of service to be held at the church; that wouldn't be until later in the day. So if it wasn't to announce the beginning of a service, then the purpose of the bell was to call the citizens of Strasbourg to attention, which meant…

Jane wrenched open the door just as the first sounds of yelling reached her ears. In the hallway, others made their way downstairs, some blearily and some with an excitement that made her apprehensive, but she hesitated for only a moment before joining the stream of people. It wasn't until she'd exited the building that Jane even remembered that she'd left both her belongings and Loki upstairs. But when she started to turn, a hand pressed to the middle of her back and urged her forward.

"Keep going."

Jane couldn't turn her head enough to catch more than a partial glimpse behind her, but apparently, Loki's voice was as unmistakable as the rest of him. There was no doubt that it was him behind her.

"But I need to…"

"You _need_ to not appear suspicious." Leaning forward, he spoke lowly in her ear as he steered them along. "If you leave now, you will only draw attention to yourself."

Part of her grudgingly admitted he was right, but another part called him a liar because if anything would draw attention to the pair of them, it would be Loki and his strange clothing. With a sharp motion, she whirled around, mouth already open and ready to chastise him for being a hypocrite, but it snapped closed when she came face to face with Heinrich.

She spluttered, taken aback. "Heinrich?" But his face twisted in a withering look that Jane knew didn't belong to him.

"Please…" Heinrich might have been standing before her, but it was Loki's sarcastic voice coming from his mouth. In the future, she'd have to tell him not to take the form of people she knew; it was unsettling. "I don't think the rest of these mortals would take kindly to seeing me as I truly am." He spun her around and pushed her forward. "Now, move."

They trailed along near the end of the crowd, passing through the city like a herd of cattle, until they finally came to a stop in the main courtyard. With everyone in attendance, the bell pealed one more time before stopping, the air reverberating with its ringing sound. The mass of people effectively blocked her view, but Jane craned her neck anyway, trying to see the purpose for the gathering.

When she did, she almost wished she hadn't.

Between a woman's head and a man's shoulder, she was just able to make out a platform, the new leader of the city council standing in the forefront, and a horde of Jews tied up behind him. The councilman was speaking, but the particulars weren't registering. Words filtered in through the noise around her.

Sin…

Poison…

Repercussions…

But all Jane could hear was _blame, blame, blame_.

As the man continued to speak, the people around her began to mutter among themselves; but soon the mutters turned to talking and the talking turned to shouting and the shouting turned to wild cheering when another man appeared on the platform carrying a torch. The crowd surged, and Jane dimly felt Loki's hands steady her right before his chest pressed to her back when they were shoved together.

"They're trying to kill us!"

"God punishes the rest of the land for their transgressions!"

The vile statements filled the air while the mob pulsed with an energy that set her on edge and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The people were like rabid beasts, frothing at the mouth.

"Burn them!"

In a daze, Jane looked from person to person and saw nothing but panic. It wasn't hate that was driving them to act the way they were but a primal fear of the death coming for Strasbourg. And the problem with fear was how quickly it could take hold and push away all bits of common sense, how quickly it could make people turn on others, how quickly it could make offering up an entire community of Jews seem like the logical action.

As the councilman stepped back, the man bearing the torch stepped forward and, one by one, lit the kindling beneath the stakes.

Her glimpses of the platform were interspersed, blocked by nodding heads and raised fists, but just the occasional view left her stunned and mute with horror. The flames rose to lick at the bound people, and Jane's hands rose with them, covering her mouth as she shook her head in disbelief.

Here, again, was the proof of how rotten people could be at the core, how wicked, and she absentmindedly wondered why anyone – mortal or immortal, human or god – would want to bear witness to it. Why was he even _here_? Why was _she_ here? But then a different kind of scream began to pierce the air. And she wanted to turn and bury her face in Heinrich's chest but couldn't because it was Loki…

Her thoughts faltered.

_Loki._

Then, they took hold again.

With difficulty, Jane began to turn. Her elbows dug into the ribs of the people around her in a bid for more space, but they didn't even notice, intent on watching the scene on the platform. Still, she managed to rotate until she was facing the Heinrich that was Loki. Ignoring the improper way they were pressed together, she stared up at him.

"Loki, help them." He blinked once, looked down at her, then blinked once more and looked back to the platform. "Save them!" She was yelling now, pleading, clutching at the shirt he wore. "I know you can save them, so save them!"

Later, she would realize that the jeering shrieks of the crowd drowning out her words probably saved her life. Under their current mentality, had any of them heard Jane wanting to save the Jews, they would've offered her up to be burned alive as well. At the time, though, she didn't care.

"Why won't you save them?" A hard jerk on the shirt brought Loki's attention back to her. "Why?"

"You know I do not meddle in the lives of mortals."

Jane's mouth fell open. He didn't want to meddle with mortals' lives. _Loki_ didn't want to meddle with people's _lives_. The hypocrisy, the insincerity, the absolute injustice of it burned at her, and before she could even second-guess her actions, she reached up and slapped him.

Instantly, her hand was caught in his crushing grip. It didn't matter that it was Heinrich's face that she'd struck or Heinrich's hand that held her own – it was Loki's strength that threatened to pulverize the bones in her wrist.

"Careful, Jane."

And even though he sounded calm, the sinister warning in his voice was stark.

Over the past three centuries, Jane had begun to think of herself as a fairly intelligent person. Through careful observation and the occasional instruction, she was fluent in five languages and was probably more learned than any ladies that were allowed to attend studies. However, being intelligent and being wise were too very different things, something she demonstrated superbly when she continued yelling at Loki.

"No!" His chin lifted marginally, evidently unused to hearing the word. "You saw fit to meddle with my life! Why can't you do the same now?"

"That was different."

"No, it wasn't!" When she lifted her other hand to hit him, he arched an eyebrow, daring her to try; she settled for clenching her fingers into a trembling fist instead. "A life is a life, no matter if it's mine or theirs."

He watched her fist lower to her side before meeting her frustrated gaze with his own blank one. "What would you have me do, Jane? Don my armor and descend from the sky like the god all you humans believe me to be?" She swallowed hard, still unwilling to accept defeat. "I cannot save them without making a scene."

"But how can you just stand there and do nothing?"

How could he do nothing when the screams were growing louder and the fire was burning hotter and the air was filling with the stench of burning flesh?

"Because I know not everyone can be saved. That's not how the realms operate." Releasing her hand, he broke their stare and lifted his head back to the platform. "You will learn that too… eventually."

Jane needed to do something.

She needed to scream. She needed to cry. She needed to sit down. She needed to run. She needed to live. She needed to die.

Something.

_Anything._

But there was nothing she could do to help the people burning on the platform without ensuring her own death in the process, and there was nothing Loki could do – just like he'd said – without meddling in their lives. And in some small, reluctant part of her brain, she recognized the truth of his words. It wouldn't be right for her to go through life picking and choosing who gets to live and who deserves to die simply based on where she lived at the time. Saving the Jews in Strasbourg wouldn't prevent another town from rioting against them as well, nor would it prevent the rest of the country from falling to the epidemic.

She couldn't play God.

Without warning, a sharp pain flashed through Jane's skull and sent tears to prick at her eyes. The suddenness of it took her by surprise, and she struggled to comprehend what was happening even as she felt herself fall to the ground. The cobblestones dug into her spine while someone stepped on the tips of her fingers, but it was the rancid breath in her face that gathered her attention.

"Around here, women don't strike men unless they want to be struck back." The unfamiliar man tightened the fist he had twisted around her braid. "Do you fancy a slap across the face?"

Still grimacing with the pain, Jane did the most inane thing she possibly could have done in that moment – rear back and spit in the man's face.

With a low chuckle, he wiped it away. "Seems like you need to learn a few manners."

But before he could say anything else, before he could even move, a pale fist connected with his head, snapping it viciously to the side, his crouched body following closely as he fell from his previous position above her. He tumbled against the legs of the people around them, but they only stared at the exchange for a moment before rearranging themselves around his now unconscious form and resuming their cheering for the fiery spectacle that continued.

Wincing at the sore spot on the back of her head where the man had jerked her hair and cursing her stupidity for hitting Loki – at least in public, her mind snidely added – she looked up to her rescuer and was shocked to see Loki.

Not Loki disguised as Heinrich, but the real Loki.

Speechless, she stared at him, taking in the harsh frown he issued to the man beside her. It wasn't until he looked back to her and noticed her shock that his face slowly slid into a look of disbelief, realizing his charade had slipped. He was still dressed as Heinrich, but the body in the clothes was his, the features all his own. Now confused, he glanced between his hands and her on the ground.

"Josefine!" Jane blinked and saw Heinrich once again; only this time, it was the real Heinrich, looking worried, anxious, and utterly perplexed as he pushed through the last few people to fall to his knees beside her. "Josefine, are you alright?" His hands grasped hers. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm…" Using him as leverage, she pulled herself to a seated position. "I'm fine."

"If you wish to leave, I suggest you do so now."

In unison, they both turned to Loki. The look of surprise was gone, replaced with a carefully crafted blankness, but Jane could see the remnants of whatever had bothered him so much in the uncertain glint in his eyes. Heinrich, however, wasn't nearly as caught up in the glint as she was. Instead, he was helping her to her feet and checking her over for any more scrapes or bruises while she stared at Loki.

"Thank you." The words came out softly, her voice a little breathier than expected.

Loki dipped his head in a shallow nod of acknowledgment; then, stepped aside to allow them a path to get out. Not willing to wait another second, Heinrich's hand found her upper arm and began to pull her away, leading her through the wild fray and to the abandoned city gate nearby.

And just before Heinrich ushered her from Strasbourg, Jane turned around long enough to see Loki still standing where they'd left him, staring at her intently, a motionless force in the middle of an angry tempest.

* * *

A/N2: History fact for this chapter – the citizens of Strasbourg were prepared to kill the roughly two thousand Jews that lived there at the time. They were arrested and forced into giving confessions about poisoning water supplies before they were sentenced to be burned at the stake on February 14, 1349. In the end, about half of the Jews were willing to be baptized and were allowed to live, but those that refused were killed. The people of Strasbourg did so thinking it would save them, but the plague struck regardless and ended up killing about sixteen thousand people.

I'd love to hear all of your thoughts, so leave me a review with comments or questions if you have time! I try to respond to all of the reviews that I get!


	5. 1587: Roanoke Island

A/N: As promised, things get a little more interesting in this chapter; although, it's more in the sense that we're starting to get some bigger glimpses of the plot than outright action. If it's action you're craving, hold out for a couple more chapters. As a side note, if you're desperate for details, leave a review and I'll answer any of your burning questions with a PM! Also, thank you to everyone that's favorited, followed, or reviewed so far. My muse thrives on feedback.

As always, a tremendous thank you to **Hr'awkryn** who continues to be absolutely amazing!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with Marvel Comics or any of its creations. I can only appreciate the characters they've given us to work with.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"_I believe in kindness… also in mischief."_

* * *

1587: Roanoke Island

The crack of a limb cut loudly through the silence of the afternoon.

Jane crouched by the waters' edge, ignoring the way it soaked both her stockings and the hem of her dress, as she stared hard at the set of bushes across the creek. Sweat beaded on her brow, a few drops trickling down, but she didn't wipe them away. A few seconds passed, a few minutes…

But when nothing appeared or made any more noise, she returned to scrubbing the cloth with sand from the creek bed. The surrounding water darkened, quickly turning from clear to pink to red. It stained her hands crimson, but she tried not to let it bother her. After all, for the first time in a while, the blood she was cleaning out of the cloth was that of life, not death.

The life was that of Ananias and Eleanor's first daughter, and how fitting that they had named the child Virginia after the land in which they lived.

Aside from the crescent moon bruises on her forearm where Eleanor had clasped it, the birth itself had been relatively easy, but Jane's experience as a midwife – picked up during her time in Iceland – meant she didn't get to enjoy the relieved celebrations that followed a successful delivery. Instead, she'd collected the afterbirth and buried it outside the town, wiped down the house, and gathered up the blood-soaked rags before making the trek down to the creek to clean them.

Grabbing another handful of sand, she scrubbed at a particularly persistent stain, and sullenly thought how there would be more washing blood from clothes in the future. This time, though, it would be the blood of death.

Reaching up, Jane used her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead, pointedly ignoring the liquid that slipped through the growing hole in the fabric.

It wasn't the only hole that had developed in her garments, nor was she the only one that suffered from threadbare clothing or a hungry stomach. The colony was in need of supplies, but having received no word from England, they had no way of knowing when more would arrive. But despite the lack of interaction with their homeland, they'd continued, trying to manage on their own; at least, until a few especially rough months and even rougher negotiations with the natives had left them desperate.

In the end, it had been decided that Governor White would return to England within a fortnight for help. However, while his departure would bring hope to the colonists, it would also leave them even more vulnerable to the perils of the new world.

Between the wild animals and the different types of diseases and the natives and their general lack of provisions, they could only hope to survive until the governor's return.

Jane was still lost in thought when another snap came from the brush across the creek. The sound instantly caught her attention and put her on edge, and as much as she'd like to write it off as a deer or some other animal, the fact that it had come from the same location had her thinking otherwise. She had yet to experience a hostile encounter with the natives, but the colonists had been warned often enough to keep their distance. Not even two months back, George Howe had been supposedly killed by one of the Indians while wandering by himself, serving to be the case in point.

But like a fool, she had come down to the creek alone.

And also like a fool, she remained by the water instead of returning to the settlement.

But then, the thought of turning her back to the noise made her distinctly uncomfortable. If she was going to die, she'd prefer to do it facing the harbinger instead of running from it.

Her hands fell still as she eyed the dark greenery, squinting in the bright light of the midday sun. Around the small clearing where she crouched, the birds resumed their chirping, the creek trickled around her fingers, and the faint hint of a breeze stirred the treetops overhead, but just as before, nothing burst out of the vegetation. Everything seemed completely normal… aside from the uneasy shiver that made goosebumps prickle on her arms.

Focus still trained on the opposite bank, she wrung out the cloth and laid it beside her before reaching back to where she'd laid the rest of the bloodied materials. Without looking, she aimlessly searched for the pile. Grass, dirt, rock… her fingers met everything except the fabric.

And she was just about to look away from the bushes to find it when one of the rags fell into the creek directly in front of her.

Water splashed onto her face, and she frantically wiped at it even as she fell sideways to land in the shallow water. Whatever had been in the bushes was quickly forgotten in favor of whirling around to face the presence Jane now clearly felt behind her. So it was with sopping clothes, tangled hair, and a bloody rag caught around her torso that she was met with a smug grin.

"Hello, Jane."

"Damn it, Loki!" He stood on the bank, staring down at her with obvious amusement, and she countered with her very best glare as she got up and stepped out of the creek. "Do you have any idea how much you scared me?"

"Considering your reaction – yes."

"Was that you over there also?" She waved behind her in the general direction of the noise she'd been hearing.

Loki glanced past her briefly. "I can't say that it was." But the smirk on his face wasn't exactly convincing.

With one last narrowed look, she bent over to wring out her skirt. "Ugh…" Water pooled around her while bits of dirt fell from her clothes to land on the cloth she'd just cleaned and would now have to clean again. "Well, you sure know how to make an entrance. Most people would say hello instead of sneaking up on someone and throwing a dirty rag in front of them."

"I am not and have never been _most people_."

"Clearly."

Loki shadowed her when she moved farther up the bank and into the sun. "And I did say hello."

"Yes, after you…" Jane blinked. She had been planning on chastising him, but there really was no use in it; knowing him, he'd only laugh at whatever she had to say. Instead, she just shook her head and began to wring out her hair. "You know what, nevermind."

He laughed anyway. But it wasn't really a wholehearted laugh. More like… a chuckle? A snicker? A chortle? It was the kind of laugh that held a darker edge to it. Regardless, though, it was a sound of amusement.

"Jane Foster, you never cease to be entertaining."

Feeling slightly disgruntled, she muttered. "I'm glad to know that you find enjoyment at my expense."

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and ran her fingers through it, managing to tame it into something halfway presentable. However, her clothes left something to be desired. Not only were they wet, the bloody rag that had wrapped around her torso in the water had left a red smear on the fabric. Grumbling to herself, she wiped at the blood, which only proceeded to spread it around and set the stain.

Jane regarded the crimson line beneath her bust. It wasn't that she considered herself elegant, by any means; truthfully, she was far from it. But that still didn't mean she fancied the idea of walking around with a bloodstain on her dress.

When she spun around to see him still grinning at her, she glowered.

"Speaking of enjoyment, you seem to be in an awfully good mood. I take it you're finished sulking?" The way his grin froze and fell just a bit at her question was easily the high point of her day.

"I do not sulk."

"Really?" It was Jane's turn to grin when he arched a brow at her. "Then why have you been ignoring me for the past two hundred years?"

After the events in Strasbourg, Loki had remained mysteriously absent. None of his sudden appearances, none of his disparaging remarks about mortals; for more than two centuries, there was nothing except her and the yawning expanse of eternity. It had been almost… dull. Not that she would ever admit that beyond the confines of her mind.

To Loki's credit, he recovered quickly. Although, it wasn't altogether unsurprising; he always had been good at that. Banter that bordered a fine line between hostility, teasing, and genuineness had become their specialty, a trademark of their interactions.

"Why, Jane… have you missed me during my absence?"

"I didn't say that so don't flatter yourself." She stared him down, or tried to, rather. Her skills at intimidation were virtually nonexistent when facing a mortal human, much less the God of Mischief. Even still, she tried, crossing her arms and setting her jaw for good measure. "Well?"

"I've been busy."

She wasn't about to let his vague response go. "Doing?" Although, when she thought about it, why she cared at all about where he'd been or why he hadn't visited her over the past two centuries was beyond her.

"You've grown awfully bold over the years." His grin shifted into a smirk even as she fought to maintain her defiance. "I can't say that I find it unappealing. Confidence, even if it is only an attempt at it, becomes you."

It was so unlike anything he'd ever said to her before, that, for a moment, Jane didn't even know what to say. But then she let the – compliment? – pass in one ear and out the other as she, again, redirected the conversation. "You still didn't answer me."

"I am aware of that."

Jane sighed. Of course he was. It would have been more shocking for Loki to _not_ be aware of just how well he manipulated a conversation.

At least she was getting better at noticing it. Early on, she would begin a discussion with a specific purpose in mind only to end up talking about something completely different. Not until he was already gone would she remember what she'd really meant to say. So, apparently, the upside to living forever was that she was becoming more adept at recognizing Loki's tricks. But if that was the _only_ upside to her immortality…

"I have been searching for answers." Jane refocused on Loki to find he'd turned to the right and was now staring at the creek. "The sickness that affected Midgard the last time I was here…"

"The Great Plague."

"… was more widespread than many of the humans realized. It began in the far east…"

"China."

"… before spreading to the land you called home at the time…"

"Europe."

He looked to her sharply. "You seem to be under the impression that I need to know the names of these places. Let me assure you, I do not." Jane frowned but closed her mouth, watching as he turned back to the water. "The mortals' living conditions only worsened the effects, but it was still unusual for the disease to be as devastating as it was. Not to mention the fact that I recognized some of the symptoms."

At the thought of those dark years, she had to suppress a shudder. The madness that had overtaken Strasbourg was only the beginning; their trip back through France revealed far worse situations. It was a miracle Jane, Heinrich, and his men – or the majority of them – had made it to Iceland alive.

"As I suspected, the sickness was not of this realm."

That was… unexpected.

"Then where was it from?" When he didn't answer, she took a couple steps forward. "Loki?"

He paused for so long that she began to think he wasn't planning on answering her, which would have been typical. Finally, he replied. "Muspelheim." Jane came to a stop when he turned to look at her over his shoulder. "One of the branches of Yggdrasil."

"I remember."

For the longest time, she'd been thrown by the bizarre words Loki sometimes said. In the end, she didn't know if it was because he tired of her asking for clarification, because he wanted to actually teach her, or because he just wanted to revel in her stunned disbelief… all she knew was that, during a rare moment of comparative peace between the two of them, he had explained Yggdrasil and the nine realms it held in its branches.

They were things she'd heard before, parents often entertaining their children with fanciful tales of the gods or frightening them into good behavior with warnings of the giants of fire and ice. But that was all she'd believed them to be – stories. To find out that a great deal of them were, in fact, true had been a shock.

"But how did we contract one of their illnesses?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" His flippant attitude only made her brows knit together in disquiet, but he smoothly ignored it, turning to face her completely. "For that particular disease to have spread here, a human must have been exposed to it, which can only mean one thing." Jane's focus flicked between his eyes, his body, and his feet as he moved closer, gradually closing the gap between them. "A son of Muspel somehow found his way to this realm."

Loki always had the uncomfortable habit of invading her personal space when he was around. She had the sneaking suspicion it was just another form of his mischievous nature, something he did simply because he liked to watch her squirm. For the most part, she'd become somewhat accustomed to it over the years. But being _familiar_ with the act didn't equal being _comfortable_ with it.

Swallowing hard, she fought down the sense of self-preservation that always seemed to make itself known as he drew nearer. The issue wasn't so much that he was too close, it was that he was too close _and_ wearing that grin; because despite being immortal, struggling with her still very mortal instincts was a constant battle around Loki, as if her body naturally recognized that he was the predator and she was the prey.

When no more than a couple feet remained, he stopped.

Jane craned her neck to continue looking at him. If intimidation was what he intentionally strived for – it seemed entirely possible – then he excelled at it wholly. At the same time, though, maybe it was just her imagination – also entirely possible.

Lifting a hand, she shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun off the water. "But what would the fire giants be doing here?"

"Another good question."

"And how would they even get here? You said the…" Jane gestured indistinctly, struggling with the unfamiliar word.

"Bifrost?"

"Yes. You said the Bifrost was the only way to travel between the realms."

He nodded thoughtfully, attention drifting to some point above her head for a moment. "That is true." Then, he grinned. "Unless one knows the workings of magic."

Jane considered his words. "You never told me of any other…" Gods? Creatures? "Beings that were skilled in sorcery as well."

Loki had only ever mentioned that his abilities were exceptional among the others in his realm. So, as if the idea of a mischievous master of magic wasn't unsettling enough, she now knew that the rest of the cosmos contained… others capable of magic. The more she learned of the other realms, the more clearly she felt the disadvantages of her own.

"I was unaware of any obligation I had to inform you of everything." He managed to sound haughty, teasing, and coldly aloof, all at the same time. It would have been just like him to leave it at that, which made it all the more surprising when he continued. "The sons of Muspel are not masters of magic; not in the same way as I am, at least."

Jane frowned. It was one thing for her to think of him as skilled; it was another thing entirely for him to say it so boldly. He was too cocky for his own good.

"However, there are a few among them that are skilled enough to make the journey between the realms."

Crossing one arm over her body to hold the opposite elbow, she let the other hand hang down, fingers absentmindedly finding the place on her upper thigh where Loki had healed her. Her thumb traced back and forth over the spot where a scar should be. There was nothing but clear, smooth skin beneath her skirt, but all the talk of magic and sorcery had the spot tingling as if something was there.

"That still doesn't explain why they would come here. You've made it perfectly clear just how dull you believe this world to be. What use would there be for fire giants to come here?"

"And that, Jane, was what I was attempting to find out."

She waited for the explanation, heart tripping a little quicker, breath catching in her lungs. But when he remained silent, her excitement deflated a bit, and she looked to him expectantly. "Well?"

"I found nothing."

Somewhere, in a time long ago and a place covered in craggy mountains with snow-covered peaks, a woman named Signe that was far more gullible and far less worldly and altogether more trusting would have believed Loki.

Jane did not.

She stared at him shrewdly. Then, ignoring his smug expression, she lowered her hand, looked away, and blew out the heavy breath she'd been holding. "I don't believe that."

"Oh?"

She shook her head, still avoiding his gaze; she didn't want to witness the pleased glint in his eyes that always appeared when she disagreed with him. He enjoyed arguing – _discussing things_, he would correct – more than anyone she'd ever met.

"No, I think you know exactly what's going on. You wouldn't be… _you_ if something was happening that you weren't aware of." Moving around him, Jane retrieved the clean rag that had partially slid back into the water. "That's what makes you so frustrating."

"That I am knowledgeable?"

"Not exactly." She dunked the cloth into the water to get rid of the debris it had picked up before straightening, wringing out the excess water and laying it across a nearby rock. "You're frustrating because you keep everything to yourself… or most of it, at least. I can't fault you for wanting to know or understand things, but you could at least share it with me, especially since it concerns me."

Though, that wasn't quite right.

"Well, not me directly but me as in my people." She could feel the weight of his regard on her back, knew what he was going to say. "And I don't even want to hear it. Just because I'm immortal doesn't mean these aren't my people; we've had this conversation before."

For a long moment, the only sound was of chirping birds and the slight splashing of the bloody rag she dipped in the creek. Crouched in the same way she'd been before Loki had arrived, she scrubbed at the second piece of fabric.

"Again, we return to the question of why you believe I should share anything with you."

Jane lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know… because everyone needs someone to talk to?" The gods knew she wished she had someone with which to share the secret of her circumstances. Someone besides Loki, of course; he didn't count. "Then again, maybe there's someone else you share your schemes with."

"There isn't." Something about the response made her hesitate, hands stilling in the water as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. She watched a peculiar expression cross his face, but then it was gone before she could really process what it meant. "I prefer to keep my schemes, as you put it, to myself."

Snorting a laugh, she turned back to the water. "That, I believe."

Knowing she wasn't going to pull a truthful answer from their conversation, Jane resigned herself to not knowing.

For the moment.

The now clean rag was laid out on the rock beside the other one before she pointed at him. "But there _is_ something going on behind the scenes; I know it. I just don't know if it's just the fire giants or if you have something to do with it. Whether you're involved or not, though, I know there's something going on with you, too." He grinned all the more at her jabbing finger. "You appearing in Norway that day wasn't some random event… just like you didn't save me out of the goodness of your heart."

"I'm hurt, Jane." He pressed a palm flat against his chest in mock affront.

"Only because I don't believe you when you say you're not up to something."

"Hm." Pursing his lips, he spun on his heel and took a few steps away from her. "Perhaps I am aware of what is going on with Muspelheim. Perhaps I did have some sort of plan when I appeared to you all those years ago."

He stopped.

"Or…"

Her eyes narrowed when he turned back to her.

"Perhaps I am only leading you on, making you think I have ulterior motives. Did you ever consider the possibility that I've been acting just suspicious enough to arouse your curiosity when, in reality, I've done everything to you for no other reason than to cause mischief?" He held his hands out in a disarming manner. "It is my title, after all."

Jane scanned his figure, took in his annoying smirk and his annoying confidence and his annoying presence and felt… annoyed.

"You give me a headache, do you know that?" With a huff, she pressed a finger and thumb to her temples.

His laugh that followed was even more annoying.

Lowering her hand, she strode over to him. And when she poked him in the chest, she was annoyed that he didn't even have the decency to look startled.

"I don't know what's going on with the fire giants, but as long as they stay out of this realm, I don't care. But you…" Her lip curled, eyes flashing with a challenge. "Everything you do has a purpose behind it, a reason of some sort. I don't know why you wanted me to live forever, but you had a reason for giving me that apple. And believe me when I say I will find out."

Grin firmly in place, he glanced from her eyes to the determined twist of her mouth to the finger still jabbed against his armor. "You can search forever and never know, Jane. It's always hardest to see that which is right under your nose."

"Well, then, I guess it's a good thing I have an eternity to figure it out."

"Still not long enough."

She pressed a little harder into his chest. "I _will_ find out."

Suddenly, her hand was caught in his, not a harsh or firm grip as it had been in some of their past meetings, but gently. He gave the slightest tug to bring her closer while he stepped forward as well. For the briefest moment, she panicked that, for some inane reason, he was going to kiss her even though nothing but an uneasy tension had ever accompanied their meetings…

But he didn't kiss her; he leaned in right next to her. His cheekbone pressed to hers while the soft ends of his hair tickled her nose… and there was the faintest scent of something like cedar and snow before she felt breath that was both warm and cool brush over her ear.

"Good luck."

Then, he was gone.

And by the time her heart returned to a normal rate and she caught her breath, she turned around to see that every single one of the bloodied rags were as pristinely white as they'd been before the birth. And when she looked down, her hair and dress were completely dry and the stain was gone.

* * *

Jane struggled, gritting her teeth as if that would somehow ease the weight of the wooden plank she and Margery were carrying. They moved around the still-smoking coals of a fire and raised the board when a couple children darted beneath it before dropping it with the rest of the planks. There was a sizeable stack now, growing larger by the moment as the buildings of Roanoke were systematically torn apart to prepare for their journey.

"Have you heard anything of where we're headed yet?"

"The main rumor is that we'll head north towards Chesapeake Bay." Jane wiped bits of sawdust from her hands while they made their way back to grab another plank. "The natives in that area have always been especially helpful to us."

Margery nodded. "Yes, they have."

"That's not for certain, though. It's just gossip."

"Either way, it will be nice to relocate." Her mouth twisted when she looked at the next plank they were to carry. "Although I can't say I enjoy the preparations. My mother would surely faint if she could see the callouses I've developed since we arrived." She held out her hands to show off the rough patches of skin.

Jane eyed her own hands in response. If Margery's mother would faint at her daughter's, what would she do if she saw Jane's? Years spent riding horses and holding a sword had toughened her hands in an unladylike way that didn't fit in with the women of the sixteenth century, and even though she'd led a more dignified life for the past few decades, her callouses were slow to fade. Gloves had been a wardrobe staple back in England.

"Feel relieved, then, that your mother isn't here to see it. Still, I doubt Henry would turn you away because of rough hands."

Immediately, Margery giggled at the mention of the man and began to talk about their latest interaction, only pausing long enough to lift another plank. She was hopelessly enamored with him and had been caught dreamily staring at him on more than one occasion.

But while she talked, Jane barely listened.

Because on the top side of the plank they were carrying was a human-shaped handprint that was unnaturally large, unnaturally sporting claw marks at the end of the long fingers, and unnaturally burned into the wood.

* * *

They continued to dismantle the structures over the next week until the people of Roanoke were ready to leave on the morning of the ninth day. People rushed about gathering last minute belonging and items, but there was an excitement in the air. The rumors had been true; they were heading north for Chesapeake.

Jane was moving about, tossing dirt on the fires from the previous evening when someone bounded up to her. Glancing up, she took in the sight of Hugh Pattenson, face shiny with perspiration and breathing heavily.

"Good morning, Ms. Pierce." He grinned so wide, she swore she saw every one of his teeth. "Lovely day for a trek, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. But you know I've asked you a thousand times to call me Jane." Being able to bear a name that was half-hers was nice, for a change.

"It wouldn't be proper if I did."

That wasn't completely true. It would be perfectly acceptable for him to call Jane by her first name so long as they were merely friends. The problem was Hugh had no intention of only being her friend. Based on what the other women had said, he'd taken a fancy to her and wanted to court her, something Jane did not plan on agreeing to. She was already trying to formulate a response for when that day came, some way to let him down easy.

But for now, she smiled good-naturedly. "If you insist."

"I'm actually here to ask a favor of you." Jane stood, knees cracking from the constant motion of crouching and standing. "Mr. Ellis mentioned that we need to leave a sign that we've gone for when Governor White returns."

"The abandoned settlement isn't sign enough?"

Hugh awkwardly laughed, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck while his face flushed in embarrassment. "A sign of where we're going… that's what I meant to say." He cleared his throat, buying some time to compose himself, and then explained. "Anything we leave on the ground is likely to be disturbed by wild animals or the natives, so Mr. Ellis has instructed us to carve the name of the friendly tribe into a tree. He's sure the governor will find it and understand."

"He instructed us to do that?"

The same nervous grin spread across his mouth. "Well, technically he asked me, but I've been busy helping the Chapman's this morning and was wondering if you'd mind helping me."

Beyond Hugh were nearly a dozen other young men standing about, each one of them perfectly capable of carving a word in a tree. But instead of enlisting any of them to help, Hugh had come to her. The women's words flitted through her mind again, and she had to fight a frown at the thought of them. His proposal to court her would surely be coming soon.

Perfect…

Nevertheless, Jane held out her hand. "Thank you, Ms. Pierce. Here you are." She grasped the hilt of the proffered blade and tucked it through the sash at her waist. "Are you sure you don't need any assistance?"

"No, Hugh, I'm sure I can manage." It wasn't like it would be a challenging task. Still, sometimes it was difficult for her to remember that, to everyone else, she was supposed to be a delicate maiden instead of an over five hundred year old once-Viking. And when it wasn't difficult, it was just plain annoying.

Hugh hesitated before nodding and jogging back to the Chapman's, while Jane, now alone, scanned the forest line, selecting one of the larger oak trees on which to leave the word. She set to work right away, repeatedly gouging the letters as deep and wide as possible. But while she worked, her mind wandered. Of its own accord, it revisited the conversation she'd had with Loki the last time he'd visited.

They had come here… the fire giants of Muspelheim had come to her realm… to what, spread sickness?

That couldn't be the only reason, especially considering the random handprints she'd found around the colony.

After noticing the first one that day with Margery, Jane had seen a few others scattered about. One on another board from a building being taken down, one nearly hidden on the side of a tree on the outskirts of town, one on the cart that held their supplies. When she'd pointed it out, the other colonists just laughed and dismissed it as children playing harmless pranks, but Jane knew the truth. It was no prank, not when she'd seen one of the handprints around the base of the cross that topped the church steeple, a place that would've been impossible for any of the children to reach.

As much as she didn't want to believe it, the truth was hard to deny. They were human-like, but much too large and clawed… not to mention that the imprints had been burned into whatever surface they touched. Unless there was another set of mythical, otherworldly beings that she hadn't heard of yet that were significantly larger than humans and whose body temperature ranged at levels that rivaled an inferno, there was no way around it – those handprints had to belong to fire giants.

Which brought everything full circle – albeit, a confusing one – and within it was Loki with his smug, knowing grin, holding all the answers.

After tracing the engraving one more time, Jane lowered the blade and stepped back to observe her work. It was as deep as the first joint of her finger and half as wide.

_CROATOAN_

Carefully fingering the point of the knife, she glanced between the tree and the settlement a few times. The tree was just close enough and her carving just large enough to where Governor White would surely find it upon his return and know where they'd gone.

"Ms. Pierce!" She started at the sudden exclamation and dropped the knife. Turning, she spied Hugh standing just past the remains of what used to be the Chapman residence, waving to her. "We're preparing to leave. Hurry back, now!"

Lifting her hand in acknowledgement, Jane watched him jog back to the group that had begun to gather at the far end of the settlement, but when she leaned down to gather up the knife he'd given her, it no longer lay on the ground but was buried to the hilt in the tree.

Jane sighed, smiling a little at the sight.

"I go over two centuries without seeing you, and now you visit me two times in five months. If only everyone were as fortunate as me."

Just because she couldn't see Loki, it didn't mean he wasn't there. She'd long since realized that he not only was able to move through the realms at will and perform feats of magic, he was also able to render himself invisible. It was a sneaky trick that she didn't appreciate, though, and she'd told him as much. The idea of going about her life while Loki watched without her knowing was unnerving.

"I'd appreciate it if you removed that knife so I can leave."

A soft chuckle came from behind her, but there was nothing out of the ordinary when she spun towards the sound. When it came again, this time from the left, she again turned to see nothing. The chuckling trailed off, leaving Jane in relative silence. She waited, listening for the sound of footsteps and watching for a glimpse of green that would give away his position.

But there was still nothing.

Jane was just about to write Loki off as having disappeared – even though, technically, he'd never appeared – when she heard a faint scraping. Thinking it was only a squirrel or bird of some sort, she casually glanced over her shoulder; however, she froze at what she saw. It was a knife, the same knife that had been buried in the tree, only now it was floating in mid-air, carving a letter into a nearby tree. She continued to stare in partial disbelief as two more letters joined the first.

_CRO_

At first, it seemed Loki was going to mimic her carving, but after the engraving looped back around to complete the _O_, it stopped.

"Ms. Pierce, are you coming?"

"Just a moment…" She called back without looking away from the tree. "I'll be right there."

The longer she stared, though, the more she realized that the engraving wouldn't contain anything else. And when the blade fell to the ground, it confirmed her suspicions. She knew the act for what it was – a prank, a trick, another of Loki's mischievous deeds.

Crossing the space, she picked up the knife. Her carving had been meant to be a sign as to where they were heading, but Loki's half-engraving would probably send mixed signals and confuse the men when they arrived later. For all she knew, the governor might think the word a warning instead of a directive.

Jane shook her head and breathed another sigh. "I think I liked it better when you were gone." And she pointedly ignored the chuckle that came from behind her as she walked back towards the group.

* * *

A/N2: History fact for this chapter – the child born at the beginning is meant to be Virginia Dare, the first English child to be born in the Americas. In addition, all of the colonists mentioned – Governor John White, Ananias and Eleanor Dare, George Howe, Hugh Pattenson – were all real names of people there at the time. Even Jane's alias, Jane Pierce was an actual woman that was part of the Roanoke Colony. In the end, no one has been able to figure out what happened to the colonists. When John White returned, he found the settlement disbanded with only the word CROATOAN carved into one tree and CRO carved into another.

I'd love to hear all of your thoughts, so leave me a review with comments or questions if you have time! I try to respond to all of the reviews that I get!


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